#this is sitting at nearly 10k and it's maybe only CLOSE to being half done. Because that's just how I roll these days | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vanchlo · 4 years

Text

The Partner / Chapter Two, “One Step Closer”

Word Count: 10k words / Story Masterlist / Read The Assistant / Read on Wattpad / *College resumes for me this coming week so chapters will, once again, be random* / Song: Love Is On The Radio by McFly

“You’re weak. Everybody is. Everybody fails. Maybe this evil did bring you back, but if it did, it’s because it needs you. And that means that you can hurt it.”

- Buffy the Vampire Slayer | 3x10 - “Amends”

It had been bothering me all morning, ever since Harry’s comment. If I was telling myself the truth, it had been gnawing away at the insides of my brain for longer than that.

There was so much inside of me telling me that his suspicion was right when all I wanted was for it to be wrong. If I was doing that truth thing again, of course, there was a remaining part of me that wanted it to be right, but it was miniscule at best. No more was said about it after that, but that fact in itself only made it harder to forget. Even if I had wanted to speak to him about it, he had been in partner meetings all day. I knew he was due for lunch here soon, and that’s what led me to run a quick errand before then, nabbing the car keys from his right drawer where he always left them for occasions like this.

I certainly didn’t think that this was how it would be happening, at Harry’s firm of all places. Our firm? Guilt seeped under my skin the second I had put my plan into action, well aware that he had no idea what I was doing. Tears had been close all day long, since the time those joking words had left his lips. Sure, the blame went to him on that, but I couldn’t have known what it would lead to, either. Even he didn’t. We both could deserve the blame for this entire thing, if it turned out to be true.

The second it’s done, I find that I can’t get myself to follow through. The closest thing I’ve felt to relief all day comes when I see my watch reads one o’clock. It feels like every person I pass knows my secret, despite that being an impossibility and more. The only person who could have the smallest inkling is the person whose door I stop in front of, because I’m not sure how I can do this. Or, that I can. I’ve surprised myself by getting this far in my plan.

When the door opens for me, I can’t decide whether I feel lucky that he made the next decision for me. “Hi, bug. How’s yer mornin’ been? ‘ve missed you, y’know. Oh, whatcha got there? Did ya get me lunch?” his words couldn’t be sweeter. Neither could his hand that brushes against my cheek, sliding down my arm next. Alarms blare inside of me, yelling to tell him while others repeat the opposite. I don’t know why, but doubt floods me within milliseconds. I know that he wouldn’t be upset, but then how come I suddenly worry that he would be? “Ev’rythin’ okay, Becks?”

“I-I . . ,” I try and my failure is almost immediate. The only thing that I succeed at is pushing him back into his office, and closing the door.

“Becks, what’s wrong, love?” urgency shines through in his voice. It’s the last thing that I can find, in my hand or my lips. My name graces my ears a few times more as I stare at the floor, not knowing how I could ever say this. Not just that, unsure of how I can make the next move, knowing that it very well may change my life from this moment on. His, too.

“I-I can’t do it, Harry.”

Three Weeks Earlier . .

The sound of the wooden door finding its hinges is deafening, ringing throughout the historic hallway. His booming footsteps may be even louder as I try to follow them, but his legs are just too damn long. I’m not sure if I want to even follow him, knowing what’s about to happen.

“What tha fuck was that?” he spits at me, malice laced throughout his words. I thought at least he’d wait until the car, but I guess not. Fuck me, and not in a good way.

“Can we not do this here?” my attempt at a whisper is pathetic. When he whips around, making me stop suddenly, I wish I’d never said anything.

“Do what? Talk ‘bout how you jus’ made us lose our fuckin’ case?” Harry retorts. Hanging my head low, I keep it that way as I walk around him. It’s not that easy though, or so I find, as I walk past them. All of the other lawyers waiting, as if in the dugout, outside the doors to Courtrooms 11, 12, and 13. “‘Cos you did, y’know that, right?” Wow, thanks for the fucking audience, Harry.

“How was I supposed to know they had that evidence, Harry?” my words are explosive, but they’re nothing compared to his eyes. If you slapped a long haired wig on him and made him clean shaven, it’d be just like four years ago. He hadn’t always stayed away though, especially not when he had been drinking, but it had been a while since that. Nearly a year. Then, why now?

“We knew ‘bout it, so you should’ve planned fer it, Becks.”

“I did my best, Harry,” I mutter under my breath, pointing my eyes at him. Why was he acting like this, so entitled and . . not like my Harry?

“Ya, well ‘s not good enough,” he replies curtly with a nasty curl to his lips, disgust painting his face. I make the mistake of lifting my head, catching the last second of wandering gazes before they pretend like they weren’t watching our spat unfold. “Let’s go befo’ dinner traffic starts.”

“Where d’ya think yer goin’?” it’s not a joke, like it would so often be. No, he’s still here, and I was so close to finally making my escape.

“I’m going to Skye’s for dinner.”

“But, I was gonna make fish, and-,” I don’t let him finish, because he’s been doing the very same thing to me. All day long. Clipped replies, shooting down my ideas, and doing nothing to hide his disappointment in me. “And, we’re not done talkin’ ‘bout t’day, Becks.”

“No, Harry, we are. And, you don’t get to call me that when you’re acting like this,” my words are firm, the most they’ve been in awhile. It was long overdue, even more than that. It zips his lips shut quicker than I could have hoped, and at last, he’s listening to me now. “We spoke about it the entire way here from the courthouse, Harry. You talked at me, yelled at me the whole car ride. Don’t you think that was more than enough?”

I know that I’ve made the wrong decision entirely when he rises from his chair, standing to his astounding height of six feet. I’d been loving him for the last few years, and officially for the last one and a half, so I knew what was coming by the look on his face.

“No, ‘m yer boss and I say we’re not done speakin’ ‘bout this. So, sit.”

“No,” emphasis carries in my voice, making him look as if I slapped him across the face. A groove appears between his eyebrows that sink towards his eyes. “You can’t talk to me like that, Harry. Yes, I’m your mentee and your employee, but I’m your girlfriend too. Isn’t that more important? I fucked up and made a mistake, and we lost a case. How many goddamn times do I have to tell you that I’m sorry, Harry?” a response from his lips is absent, and I can’t find one on his face as he stares back at me blankly.

The look in his eyes begins to tug at my heart once the tears have begun to leave stripes down my cheeks. God, could there for once be a time that I don’t fucking cry?

“Shit,” I mutter, wiping hastily at my cheeks. Huffing, I blink them away until his face focuses in my view. I love him, and I try to remind myself of that, but God, I am so fucking mad at him right now. He had said it to me, and now, I can’t stop thinking about it. “We’re on the same team, Harry, have you forgotten that? You keep saying lately that we should fight with love and while on the same team, but you’re a hypocrite, because you don’t! What the fuck? I’m sorry I missed that evidence writing up our argument, and that I wasn’t prepared when it came up, but what was I supposed to do? You didn’t tell me how to fix that- y-you didn’t teach me what to do when that happens, Harry. This is why I haven’t worked a case with you in awhile, because you get like this. You micromanage, you hover when I’m trying to work, you have me on too short of a leash when I’m trying to take some freedom, or you give me too much of it when I need more help. You’re demeaning, Harry, you pull the boss card when it’s not fucking needed. I know that I’m dating one of the most renowned and successful lawyers in London- hell, all of Britain, but you’re my boyfriend too. I haven’t even been practicing for two years, and it’s going to be a long time until I don’t make mistakes anymore. I’m doing my best, and it’s never enough for you. Do you remember that, when you said my best isn’t good enough in front of all of those lawyers at the courthouse, Harry? Can you even comprehend how embarrassing that was for me? I’m your girlfriend, and despite how we tried to hide it, everybody knows it. That’s not how you treat your girlfriend, Harry, or even if we weren’t dating, your coworker. We’re talking about getting engaged soon, Harry, and then what? How can we be the Styles lawyer couple when my husband treats me like I’m below him because he gets mad at me for not knowing how to do something that he never taught me? . . Talk to Simon or Jilly, because I’m not working another case with you until you stop acting like this.”

“Becks, honey. I-” the very same word from his lips is found in his words, but I’m already shaking my head at him. A part of me wants to let him continue, but the other one insists that he’s the one who does the listening this time.

“No, don’t you give me those goddamn puppy dog eyes, Harry Styles,” my warning holds more weight to it than I thought I could manage. He’s surprised too, by the way I don’t return his few second smile. “You can’t just fix this with an ‘I’m sorry’ and some pet names, Harry. I-I need to go. I can’t be here right now.”

And so I leave, fleeing to my other best friend to pour my heart out about the other one. Rinse and repeat.

The house was unusually quiet for eight o’clock. I kept putting it off, coming home. Finally, Skye did what she does best and kicked me out, insisting that I go and have some angry sex with my boyfriend, and then talk it out. It beats me why her solution to everything was sex, no matter how many times I vented to her about a row we had, that was always her answer. Sex. Have angry sex. Shower sex. Sofa sex. Slow sex. Dirty sex. Bent over the kitchen counter sex. Car sex, even. It only reminded me to never ask her where she hadn’t done it.

It was dark, save for the soft light above the stove. “Alexa, turn living room light to warm,” I ask softly, hoping that he can’t hear me. I’m just not ready yet.

Ideas for my lunch tomorrow fill my head until they’re whisked away when I open the fridge, finding my lunchbag beside his. An electric blue Post-It note sits on one of the purple handles.

I got your lunch sorted, bug, and for the rest of the week. Month, if you even want. Love you most, I’m so bloody sorry xoxoxo

His chicken scratch plants a warmth inside of me, one that I can’t deny when I close the door, and pad up the stairs. “Alexa, turn light off.”

If he was working in his downstairs study, I’d done a good job of being quiet enough, but that was never the case. I swear, I had the sound of his footsteps memorized by now. My knack for recognizing my mum’s angry stomping had carried on to my adult years, somewhat fortunately.

When it came down to it, there were few things about Harry that weren’t attractive. Sure, I could make a list of them spanning a notebook page if I thought hard enough, starting with today’s main feature. He wasn’t any more perfect than the rest of us, but sometimes in the right light he was for me. He still was despite his flaws.

The slope of his toned back was one of them, one of his imperfect perfections that he didn’t even know about. It was the first glimpse I got of him when I stopped in the open doorway of our bedroom. It had been a long time since I could remember him wearing a shirt to bed, probably last winter, if I had to say. If he heard the whispery sounds of my breaths and impending footsteps, he didn’t make it known. Neither did he when I crossed the room and escaped into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

Despite the time I spent readying myself to see him and talk to him, it wasn’t enough. No, it didn’t prepare me for the way my heart seemed to split open when I stepped out of the bathroom to find his face devoid of sunshine and red rimmed eyes threatened with more tears. If I could find the right words, which I couldn’t, I wouldn’t have even said any as I found my way to our bed, slipping under the covers on his side, the left one. His ragged breaths are hot against my bare neck, and his tears soon gracing my skin are tepid, but passionate with sobs.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” he whimpers, words divulged into me. Against my skin. Apparently, today was opposite day, because as I hold him against me, I’m teeming with guilt. “Did ya not think I could handle t’ hear it?”

“No, not really . . I wanted to find a good time to tell you, and not when we were having a row, but it just came out today. I’m sorry for the way that I said it, and how I left like that. You can’t fight fire with fire.”

“‘s okay, I deserved it fer how I treated you t’day, bub. ‘m so sorry,” his sob stings against my ears, almost pulling an adjoining one from my lips. “I think yer a great lawyer, really, I do. This case was jus’ so hard and I let it get t’ me and overshadow ev’rythin’ else. ‘s s’posed t’ be a learning experience fer you, and I fo’got that. Becks . . “

“It’s okay, Harry. It’s not, but it is. You just . . you have to work on it. Not just for me, but Simon and Jilly too who work with you, and for yourself,” I tell him amidst combing the tangles out of his ear length curls.

“Maybe ‘m not cut out t’ be a teacher, Becks. ‘m terrible at it, as you can see.”

“No, you’re not, Harry. You’re my favorite teacher, you still are. Teachers have their own learning to do, too.”

“I dunno,” he sighs, sniffling against the tears that have made my neck slick. A silence falls between us, and I’m not sure what else to say, before he does it for me. “How can I get better, Becks? Please, tell me.”

“Harry, you . . you have to relax about it. Jilly’s only an intern, and Simon graduated when I did, but he may not have as much experience as me, I dunno. Everybody’s different and every case is, too. You have to lower your expectations, I think, and raise them when you can. Sometimes, you need to loosen the leash you have on them, or tighten it, depending on how much help they need. You need to act as if they don’t know something - how to write briefs, how to finish a closing statement, how to interview a witness . . Not in a demeaning way, but in a teachable way. When they mess up, take a deep breath before telling them it’s okay, and use it as a teachable moment. Nobody is perfect, Harry, and it’s okay that you aren’t, either.”

“Sounds like you should be tha teacher, not me,” he remarks gingerly, but in a way that the sadness has devoured his happiness. This was the voice of his I perhaps hated worse than when he yells at me. “I can’t believe tha way I treated you t’day, Becks. I didn’t go over what we should do if tha state found that evidence, ‘cos I forgot ‘bout it once that missing witness was found . . ‘s not yer fault that we lost it, it really isn’t. They jus’ played their cards right, ‘s all. We’ll do better next time- Well, if you’ll have me back.”

He didn’t mean to, but he feeds the guilt monster inside of me. I wish I could hate it, but I know he means well.

“It’s not a question, Harry. I will come back to work with you. I just- I didn’t know it’d be this hard working together sometimes. Since we’re dating and we both are passionate about law, I thought it’d mean we’d be great on a team together at work, but . . “

“‘s easier said than done,” he concludes for the both of us, reminding me of that talent he has with words. “Becks, I don’t wanna be like this . . ‘specially when we have kids. I hate it when I hurt those I love,” his sob rips another seam in my heart. Pulling him closer doesn’t help, but it brings a temporary respite when he’s pressed to my front.

“Harry, you’ll be a great dad, I know it. We all have things we need to work on, we’re always a work in progress, and that’s okay too,” something inside of me clenches at the appearance of his red rimmed eyes and wet cheeks when he pulls away from me. He had always been better at wiping away the tears, but I do my best, and know that’s all that I can do. “We better hope none of them become lawyers.”

The rip starts to stitch itself back up when a ray of sunshine spills from his grinning lips, even if it’s the smallest of smiles. Tipping my head forward, my forehead comes to rest on his, and I watch as his eyes fall shut.

“You still love me?” his question is mumbled, and there goes that stitching.

“Don’t be silly, of course I still love you, Harry. I don’t think I could stop if I tried, not that I’d want to.”

His sages are tired when they open, and it makes it difficult to not think about late nights with him and a baby in our arms. One that I hope looks like him, getting his dimples, eyes, and sunshine. I wonder what we’d name them.

“You still stuck on that girl name if we had a daughter?” I pose aloud to him, welcoming the change of subjects. His nod is emphatic and so is my giggle, still unable to think of a better baby name than that one.

“Can’t believe ya still insist on namin’ our one day son Lenny,” Harry tsks, but I know he’s joking by the dimple set in his cheek.

“Come on, you still don’t like it? How do you, a Beatles and John fan, not like the idea of naming your son Lennon Styles? Doesn’t it just sound, I dunno, so perfect?” I hope I’m right, that the tears have begun to dry up from his eyes.

“Sorry, love, but as much as I love The Beatles, I jus’ can’t get on that bandwagon. Maybe ‘Lennon,’ but defo not ‘Lenny,’ sounds like an old man name or somethin’,” Harry titters, the very sound going straight for my heart. Yawning, I decide it’s my time to bury my face in his neck, sighing at the comfort of his arms going around me. “‘m so sorry ‘bout t’day, Becks. I promise you ‘ll get better. Fer you . . fer me, and our family one day.”

“Thank you. Your dedication to wanting to get better is one of the things I love most about you, Harry. You know that?” I hum, my eyes fluttering shut at the intoxicating smell of him. I’m not sure there was ever a time where it didn’t calm me, until earlier today.

Any sign of sleep is whisked away when I’m rolled onto my back, and he’s hovering over me, pinning my arms above my head. Oh, boy. This could go two very different ways, but I know which one I’m leaning towards.

“Ya sure ‘s not me huge dick ya love most?” despite the tears stuck to his eyelashes, the shine in his eye is beginning to return. It may be a different kind as of now, but I welcome it, regardless.

It’s undeniable that I’m going to get it for this one, but this too I embrace, “Now, I wouldn’t call it huge.”

It grows in his eyes, the twinkling of mischief. God, how could I ever not learn to forgive that face? That stupidly goddamn handsome face.

“Becky Styles, what tha fuck am I gonna do with you, Ms. Smart Mouth?”

“Come on, you know that’s what you love most about me,” my grin couldn’t be bigger. Neither could his automatic eye roll. “My mouth.”

“Hush, li’l one, or else yer not gettin’ any o’ this dick.”

“I know what you can do with me . . well, with that huge dick of yours, Harry,” at the end, my words collapse into a loud chuckle, especially when his teeth nip at my ear.

“Bloody hell, stop talkin’, Becks. Yer distractin’ me.”

“Good.”

With his curls hanging in his eyes, a different warmth appears in his eyes, “‘s a good thing yer me favorite distraction, love.”

I had tried and tried, but nothing. It wasn’t working.

“What the fuck?” I mutter underneath my breath. Pulling my light coat around me tighter, I shiver, narrowing my eyes at the screen. Sliding my sleeve back, I lift my wrist and wake up my Apple watch. “Hey, Siri. Call Harry.”

There’s a pause until I hear the robotic voice, “There is only ‘Harry Big Dick Styles’ in your Contacts. Would you like to call them or another number?”

“Yes,” I groan, rolling my eyes at the new name Harry had chosen for himself in my phone. By now, I could sniff it out on him, the little smirk he got when he’d ask to ‘borrow my phone’ to look something up. The little shit.

“Yes, call who?”

“Call ‘Harry Big Dick Styles,’” although it doesn’t warrant a whisper, I still do, despite being alone in my office. He got what he wanted, alright. The device soon starts to ring, and it rings, and rings. Pressing the red phone icon, I end it, “Yeah, avoid my call so I don’t chew you out for putting your name as that in my phone, Harry Edward.”

While my head rocks from side to side, mumbled curses fall from my lips as I close out of that tab. Switching to another, I type in the name of the other database, reentering my search for like, the hundredth time.

“Knock knock!” somebody chirps from outside my door, opening it regardless. “Hey, Ree, hope I’m not interrupting some important lawyer thing of yours. I’m just glad I didn’t walk in on a row of yours with Harry. You two lovebirds better now?”

“Oh, hey, Skye. No, you’re okay and we’re good again. I was about to chuck my computer at the wall, so it’s probably best you came and saved me,” I sigh, watching my best friend waltz in, plopping onto my sofa. With an ‘ooo,’ she helps herself to Harry’s candy dish on the corner of my desk. Sometimes, I really do hate him.

“What’s this ‘bout throwin’ yer Mac at tha wall? Tha thousand dollar laptop I bought you?” comes another voice into my office. Huffing, my hand comes to my face, rubbing at the furrow between my brows. Have I said lately how much I hate his sarcastic ass?

“Shutup, Harry,” Skye retorts for me, sorting through the caramels and chocolates until she locates the last mini Snickers bar.

“Hey, watch tha mouth and Skye, those are my sweets!” he exclaims, quick steps carrying him over to my desk to bat at her hand.

“Fuck off, I got it first.”

“Shouldn’t you two be workin’ or somethin’?” Harry sighs, biting off a block of chocolate as he takes a seat besides Skye.

“Shouldn’t you?” by accident, Skye and I say it at the same time. Moaning, Harry crosses his arms over his chest with a pout. Good God, I don’t even want to imagine how stubborn our kids would be.

“Fuck off, I own that sofa yer sittin’ on, could very well kick you outta me firm, if I like.”

“Fuck off, I own that sofa yer sittin’ on, yada yada, ‘m this big fancy lawyer who thinks he has a big dick and ‘s tha best thing since sliced bread,” I try and fail to hold back the laughter spurred by Skye’s near perfect imitation of Harry’s accent, and his cocky attitude. His head slowly shakes from side to side, eyes narrowed at Skye while taking another bite from his dark chocolate bar.

“Yer really gonna get it. Swear, yer never gonna be tha godmother, Skye.”

“Wait, really?! It’s about time you fucking knocked her up,” she blurts

out and I’m laughing before I register what she’s saying. It comes to a skidding halt, but Harry’s shaking head doesn’t.

“Ya, don’t think ‘d want me kids ‘round you, ya fuckin’ nutjob,” my boyfriend jokes, mouth full of chocolate.

Skye’s jaw falls and she slaps at his arm, shoving at him next, but of course, he doesn’t go anywhere. Leaning forward, Harry easily towers over her in his dark violet suit, lips spread into a shit eating grin.

“Who’s pregnant?” now, this voice is new, but it doesn’t take me long to locate its owner. All eyes flit to the doorway where Asher spreads his hands on the frame, peering inside with bent brows.

“Um, nobody but . . ,” Skye sighs. A look dawns in her eyes, and it doesn’t take me long to figure it out. “I may be after looking at you . . Fuck, did I say that out loud?” she whispers, looking away from him with wide eyes.

Harry’s obnoxious belly laughter breaks the silence when he puts his scarlet colored face in his hands. I’m afraid he might piss his pants if he laughs any harder. There’s nothing I can do to stop mine from joining his. Thankfully, Skye and Asher are soon laughing too. A few moments after we’ve collected ourselves, she gets to her feet, walking over to him in a Scooby Doo tie-dyed sweatshirt. This is one of her less eccentric outfits, if I do say so myself.

“Hi. Um, let me try that again. I’m Skye, Becky’s best friend. And, you must be?” she says, holding out a hand accented with neon pink nail polish. A sound jars me from my watching of the moment. Looking over, I find it to be Harry taking a seat on the corner of my desk, his long legs touching mine.

“Would ya look at them? Who woulda thought?” he whispers to me, nodding his head at the pair who exchange introductions and laughs.

“Yeah, God.”

“Aww, love,” Harry croons, loudly chewing his chocolate.

“Yeah, speaking of that,” I exclaim in a hushed voice, pinching the inside of his thigh.

“Ow! What’d ya do that fer? Y’know ‘s sensitive there,” he almost retorts, rubbing the skin underneath his trousers. “You could’ve gotten me balls!”

“Don’t you give me that look, Harry Styles! You have some explaining to do - what the fuck is this?” I bite back, grabbing my phone and showing him my recent calls. I don’t even have to blink and his eager lips are dealing irresistible laughs, cheeks reddening like a tomato. “I tried to call you like five minutes ago for help with the databases, and I see this! What if I’m with my Dad and you called, Harry?”

There’s no chance he’s saying anything anytime soon, because all he can do is laugh and avoid. Picking up a magazine from my desk, I swat it at his shoulder.

“Hey, watch it!” Harry warns, but his voice swimming with laughs does little to intimidate me. “That’s tha issue we’re in! Don’t wrinkle it now, we hafta frame that one.”

Groaning, he carefully pries the copy of the local business magazine, Pulse, that he and Myles were on the cover of. I’m rather sure I wanted to frame it and hang it on my wall, because that was one good picture of Harry, if I ever saw one.

A tiny yelp leaves my lips when he leans forward and pinches my boob.

“Harry!” I exclaim, shoving him away, but it’s hard to do so when he’s laughing up a storm. “I’ll do it, I swear to God.”

“You wouldn’t,” he bets aloud with a disbelieving shake of his head. His lips have begun to quiet down, and so have mine as he stays leaning towards mine, hands resting on his thighs. God, those thighs. “Not in front o’ them.”

“You pinched my fucking boob in front of them, you don’t think I’ll do it? They don’t even remember we’re here right now,” I bite back, sitting up in my chair and meeting him in the middle. A word readies on his lips, but his face changes instantly when my hand flies to his bum, poking between his cheeks.

“You li’l shit!” Harry almost yelps, grabbing my hand, only infuriated more by my laughing.

“Can you two stop being so gay over there? I’m trying to talk to Asher,” Skye pipes up. Harry gives me a funny look at the way she says his name all sultry like.

“Oooo, kissy kissy,” my boyfriend whispers to me from the cover of his hand. Turning his head with a smirk, our attention goes back to them. Mine only lapses for a moment when Harry pulls my hand into his, thumbing at my promise ring. It was something he had been doing a lot of lately.

Something I had been doing a lot of lately- well, always was how I could never stop myself from admiring the way he looked in what he wore to work. His suits. If Skye and Asher weren’t in the room right now, although on a different plane of existence it seems, I’m not sure there’d be much stopping me from devouring Harry’s thighs right now. It didn’t help that he had them spread wide open facing me, and that his trousers were especially tight today.

“You’re bad,” I almost hiss, squeezing his hand. With questioning brows, he looks back to me with a ‘what?’ “Sitting like that.”

I can’t roll my eyes fast enough at the way his dimples fall into his cheeks with another shit eating grin of his. “Y’know, Becks,” he whispers, moving so he’s full on facing me, showing me a lovely view of the bulge in his pants. “If ya told ‘em t’ leave, ‘d fuck you so hard on that sofa tha second they’re gone.”

“Harry,” it’s a soft laugh at best, but it doesn’t get very far when his lips smash themselves against mine.

“Hmmm, seems we got our wish,” he muses aloud, bringing my eyes to the door, watching them leave on their own accord. Skye’s smile couldn’t be brighter, and wait, was Asher blushing? “Hello? Becks?”

Blinking hard, my eyes snap back over to Harry. Blankly, I watch his every move. The way he slinks off his blazer, revealing the sheer white button-up he had teased me with this morning- well, all day. My bottom lip sings with pain from my teeth when he takes his time pulling his trousers down, exposing the significant bulge in his briefs. A wet circle of precum already marks where the tip of his dick is.

“Ya got tha door?” he asks, just like every time, and I mumble an impatient response.

God, I wouldn’t be surprised if I happened to end up pregnant sometime soon, because holy shit, this man. He may be an asshole, but the name he put in my phone wasn’t wrong, that’s for sure.

I had come to memorize many things about Harry, from the way that he would only shave on Friday nights, would drink a glass of water first thing in the morning, and the sounds that he made. All the kinds. He had his own little humming that he did sometimes when he didn’t think anybody noticed, or the way he played with his lips and bit them.

There was one thing about him that had melted into the background, like so many of them had by now, and that included the sound currently stemming from behind his office door. Words paused on my lips once I stepped inside, instantly mesmerized by the sounds that came from the way his fingers danced across the strings. It seems he had my sounds memorized too, because his stop suddenly, and his eyes are searching for mine. When they land on me, his cheeks crease with a shy smile.

“You finished it,” it’s more of a statement than a question, despite knowing that he could spend another week perfecting it until he’s happy. He nods with a content smile, mindlessly picking the song slowly. “It sounds amazing, babe, even better than yesterday.”

He mumbles a few words of thanks before his attention is captured again by the six stringed instrument, head bent over it in concentration. The luster has fled from his lips but the furrow above his nose has returned.

The question leaves my lips and I’m not sure if I should’ve stopped it, uncertain of the story on his pages, “Alright?” His response isn’t immediate, neither a good or bad sign, I’ve found. With my arms looped around his neck from behind, I have a bird’s eye view of his fingers on his guitar.

“Jus’ nervous fer t’night,” Harry’s voice is seldom shy, but right now, that word covers it. Over and over.

“It’ll be okay. It’s just dinner.”

“Ya right, ‘s the dinner, Becks. I don’t want it t’ go wrong or somethin,’” he remarks, fingers drifting up and down the neck of the guitar. It finds me, hastily and passionately, a sudden decision. I surprise even myself, leaving my stance behind him to walk around the chair, plucking the guitar from his hands. “What d’ya think yer doin’?” it comes out in his joking lilt, a dimple popping.

“Teach me,” I say, and you’d thought by the look on his face that I had said I was quitting or something worse. It doesn’t stay very long because it melts into a smile that almost touches his ears, if only it could.

“Thanks, bug,” although it’s not all there, I hear his words. All of them. Thanks for the distraction from my anxious thoughts, Becks. “C’mere, baby.”

Patting his lap, I roll my eyes when he winks at me, sending me air kisses. I mutter a ‘shut up’ as I carefully take a seat until my back is flush with his chest. Letting him take control, he guides my hands to hold the guitar - left hand grasping the neck at the top and my right resting on the strings over the guitar’s hole. The smile already claiming my lips climbs a little higher at the feeling of his lips sponging a kiss to my cheek.

“Thank you,” it’s a mere whisper but I catch it. It’s gone in a blink, but the way he placed his face against mine made my heart flutter. It had been a long time since I had let Harry try to teach me guitar again, despite his insisting that I could learn another instrument. Let’s just say that the first few times didn’t go that pretty due to a certain over controlling teacher.

“Will you help me too?”

“Mmmhmm,” I respond softly to his nervous question, turning my head ever so slightly to connect my lips with his cheek. “What does E major look like again?”

“This here, Boops,” his breath tickles my cheek, smelling of what else, but black coffee. He really is getting old, I think jokingly to myself, hoping I never have to give up teasing him about his age. I hope that I can keep it going for years and years to come, especially when he actually is old. The thought only makes me wonder what he was like as a teenager, and even just in his twenties, before I had met him. “‘Kay, noodle arms, help me out here.”

“Oh, sorry,” I wheeze, maneuvering my hand with his help to the second fret, arranging my fingers on the strings. I strum but we both laugh at how bad it sounds, nothing like when he does it. “Harry?” pressing my fingers down more firmly on the metal strings, I drag the hard pick across the strings. Again and again.

“Ya, Becks?”

“What were you like when you were younger?”

“What, ‘s this another o’ yer old jokes where ya think yer funny?” he muses, helping me to move my hand again. “Here’s a C, this one may be easier fer you. E and C are some o’ tha main chords. Y’know, many songs don’t have mo’ than 5 chords, so once you master tha main ones, yer golden.”

“Okay, but I can’t even play one,” it comes out in a giggle, lighter than air. He says something about practice and trying, dodging the question. “No, I’m just curious what you were like . . before I knew you. Baby Harry.”

“You’ve seen photos o’ me, and heard stories from me mum and sista.”

“Yeah, you were all hair, that’s nothing new,” the strings have begun to make my fingertips sting. That was one of the reasons I had thrown in the towel so early when it had come to learning guitar. Patience. It’s not something that Harry or I have. “You were in a band in high school, and you worked at a bakery running the till. What else? Like, what did you enjoy doing in your free time? What was your favorite cereal? When was your first real kiss?”

“Y’know some o’ this already, Becks,” a snort of his almost graces my temple where his cheek is pressed to mine. “I listened t’ music almost any chance I got, hung with me best mates - Tommy, Lola, and Morgan. Me fav cereal were tha chocolate puffs, whatever they were called. First kiss, hmm . . I guess me first real one was like fifteen, or somethin’ close t’ that. Here name was Heather Roberts. How’s ‘bout you, love? Seein’ as how we’re doin’ this twenty questions thing, I s’pose ‘s my turn. What was yer first job? First record? Favorite kid program you never missed an episode of?”

“First job was babysitting my neighbor’s two boys. God, they were a handful, two and three and mad as can be. My first record was Abbey Road, my dad’s copy he gave me after I got into The Beatles when I was like, 13. Um, favorite program was What’s New Scooby Doo,” the memories tell themselves. My cheeks fill out with a smile as he nudges his nose against my face, forgetting about the guitar to press repetitive kisses there. “Sir, you’re supposed to be teaching me how to play the guitar, not making out with my neck.”

“Priorities,” he mumbles. First, there’s the smooth feeling of his nose underneath my ear, and then the contrasting feeling of his hairy upper lip. Squirming, I hadn’t even noticed the guitar was absent from our hands, he must have snuck putting it down.

“Harry,” my giggle doesn’t last long before he’s turning me in my arms, and smashing his lips against mine the second he gets the chance. Effortlessly, my legs find a place on the other side of his, and my hands fall into his hair, just like always. “We’re supposed to be . . . working,” I hardly get out in between kisses from his busy lips.

“Couldn’t care less,” he insists in sighs. “Yer boss says not t’ worry ‘bout it.”

“Rose is my boss now.”

“God, would you please shut up?” his lips buzz against mine with a chuckle, one that I can’t help but copy. Rushed breaths tickle at the other’s skin amidst escaped laughs. There were few moments in the day where I wasn’t enveloped by his scent, one that had by accident spread to me too when I stole his body wash in the shower. My fingers are met with the satiny ribbons of his curly hair, despite his often protests to not mess it up after he had finally gotten it perfect in the morning.

A squeak escapes me when his rings press against my bum through my black slacks, some harsher than others. I just make out the beginning of his mischievous laugh as my body shifts above him, finally settling down on top of his lap.

“Woman,” Harry grumbles against my mouth, trapping my bottom lip between his sharp teeth. My giggle turns into a whine of pain with the pressure of his teeth. It only stays at the feeling of his crotch bucking up against mine from beneath. “You drive me mad,” a long sigh touches my lips when I tug down, listening to the sound of his zipper.

“Priorities,” I echo, watching the way his rosebud lips spread with sunshine.

“Breathe.”

“I can’t, dunno how you can,” it comes out as a perturbed sigh and nothing less. “‘m sorry, don’t mean t’ get short with you.”

“It’s okay,” I answer, feeling the way his rings pinch my skin when I squeeze his hand.

“Hope so,” is all Harry says when he glances over at me, rubbing a hand down his face.

“He’ll come, it’s only been a few minutes. You were like, ten minutes late for our first date, don’t you remember?”

“Oh ya,” his cheeks couldn’t be more red as they’re attacked with a surprise smile. “God, I still can’t believe I did that.”

“Neither can I. That’ll be a good story to tell our kids.”

“Ya, we’ve got loads o’ ‘em, and plenty o’ embarrassin’ ones ‘bout you,” he quips with a sly grin, making me shake my head. “What? If yer gonna tell tha bad ones ‘bout me, then ‘ll tell tha bad ones ‘bout you,” his lips end in a curled smile, the first one I’ve seen him share since we stepped foot in this place.

“Seems ‘ve missed a good joke,” a voice comments from nowhere. Our heads both whip to the side, and before I’ve seen him, I notice it. The way Harry’s lips have fallen into a line, and the way his adam’s apple bobs nervously in his throat.

“You didn’t miss anything good, don’t worry,” I assure him, standing to my feet with Harry.

“Please, sit down, there’s no need fer that,” Harry’s dad says with a wave of his hand, and we oblige. Undoing the button on his coal gray suit, he falls into the chair opposite. “‘m sorry if I kept you waitin’, traffic was a bitch.”

“Oh, it’s fine. We haven’t been waiting long. How was your day, Mr. Styles?” I find myself saying, instantly hearing a titter from Harry, followed by his father. God, these similarities are mad. First, the comment about traffic, and now, this.

“‘s Dez, none o’ that Mr. Styles rubbish.”

“Rememba when ya used t’ call me that?” my boyfriend chirps, cocking his head to the side in a funny way. Laughs pass between us and our inside joke.

Looking back to Harry’s dad, a question sits in his eyes, ones similar to Harry’s. I’d met him twice now, but it still amazes me how he looks like his dad. It’s like meeting his mum all over again, seeing him in them.

“I was his assistant before, at the firm,” my explanation comes, and so does the realization on his face.

“Oh, yes. I think we met befo’ then. That was what, four years ago? ‘m sorry we had t’ meet that way.”

“It’s okay,” it’s automatic, and so is the next few minutes sitting in silence staring at our menus. It’s as if I can hear all of the conversations around me but ours in this restaurant decorated with white tablecloths.

I’m not sure why Harry had to pick such a fancy place until I asked him, and he said it was his Dad’s idea entirely. I’d never been here, but Harry had, hence why he was pointing at my menu with whispers. Sometimes, it was hard to not stare at him while he talked, memorizing the way his lips moved when he spoke. The way his entire face could change with a flick of his eyebrows, or a lift of his lips. Tonight, I resisted, knowing how much was riding on this dinner with his dad. How important it was to him that it went well, and I understood, or as much as I could having a parent I didn’t talk to.

“This ‘s good, and Myles likes their steaks. Maybe you’d like this one with tha pasta,” he mumbles, his long pointer finger dragging over the off white, paper menu. I could tell that he was nervous, from the way he bit at his lip to how his thumb hadn’t stopped rubbing the inside of my thigh under the table.

Now, I wasn’t sure who to watch, my boyfriend beside me who kneaded at his bottom lip, or his father who did the same thing with his. It amused me, how I kept being surprised at the mannerisms between the two. First, there was the deep voice and the accent. Then, there were the almond green eyes, the towering height, and the nose. It was uncanny, the resemblance, even more so than his mum, I thought. What physical features he didn’t have of his mum’s, he made up for with his kindness and warmth of her’s. He got the sense of style from her, I think silently when I see the plain white shirt underneath his father’s blazer, and the denims I saw when he walked in.

Our meals had been ordered and waters had been poured. Soon, the questions began, too.

“So, you met workin’ at Harry’s firm?” his dad asks, scratching at his head. One lone ring sat on a pinkie, and his hair couldn’t be further from Harry’s. I couldn’t figure out where he’d gotten the curls from, seeing his mother’s wavy black hair, and his dad’s cropped gray head of hair.

“Yeah, back in . . 2021. I was his personal assistant for a little bit that fall before I left for a different job.”

“Ah, I see,” he muses aloud, awkwardness ensuing. Again. It wasn’t just him. The both of us had found it hard to retell this part of our story to anybody. Anybody who didn’t know us, or who wasn’t there. “And you came back, I see. ‘ve heard yer a rather great lawyer already.” His words bring me to turn to my boyfriend who does a poor job of hiding a smile whilst drinking water.

“Yeah, I really like it there. I’ve hopped around working with some of the lawyers there, but I think I might have a favorite.”

“I don’t blame you. Myles has always been my favorite too,” Dez chuckles, and like his son, it’s contagious. Harry yelps with a small protest, clucking his tongue at the both of us. “So, what are yer plans at tha firm?”An answer escapes me, and I turn my head, looking for it in the man next to me.

He mouths a ‘what’ at me before messing with his hair, pressing his palm against my thigh in encouragement. If you could even call it that.

“Well, right now I’m completing my mentorship, which will probably last another year and a half. So, I’m halfway. After that, I’m not sure. I’m just trying to get over this hill right now.”

He nods with my words, taking a long drink from his pint he’d ordered. It still can remind me of the look on Harry’s face when he debated whether or not to mention that he doesn’t drink anymore, despite his father’s harmless badgering to order him a whiskey on the rocks. His old favorite.

“Maybe you won’t be working by then, who knows. Anne and I had begun to have kids when we were yer age, or ‘s that not somethin’ you’d both want?” it’d be an understatement to say that his question had caught us off guard. I could tell by the way Harry’s thumb had stopped drawing circles over the fabric over my dress.

“We’re not that far yet, Dad, but . . ,” when he trails off, I meet Harry’s eyes, catching the glimmer in them at the mention of a family. “We think we’d like t’ have a few or more, sometime soon. Afta a wedding, o’course.”

“So ‘ve heard, that’s rather excitin.’ I know you’ve always wanted this, t’ find a great girl and t’ become a dad, Hare. Seems yer halfway there,” his dad comments. As if from the sidelines, I watch on as Harry nods at his father with the smallest of smiles on his face, making me wonder what he could be thinking. “You’d make a great one, you’ve turned into a great young man, son.”

“Thank you,” it was the smallest of many I’d heard from him, but the glint in his eyes spoke volumes to what he’d really wanted to say. Even if I couldn’t remember how much his dad had been around when he was growing up, it seemed to mean a lot to Harry for him to say that. “I uh, have this one t’ thank that fer. . quite a lot, actually.”

Blinking hard, I suddenly feel their eyes on me. I blame the warmth in my cheeks from that in Harry’s eyes, the sunshine overflowing from them. “He’s come a long way. I’m very proud of him too,” emotion weighs down my words, more of it speaking through my fingers when I lay my hand on top of his that hasn’t left my thigh since we sat down.

He wasn’t my son, so I couldn’t relate there. Regardless, it felt like I knew how his parents felt when they looked at Harry, because pride poured out of me just at the sight of him. I was sure that if I said another word about it the feeling would come out of me in tears.

“What do you think?”

“‘Bout what, love?” his voice sounds far away, despite it being just across the middle console from me.

“Dinner tonight.”

“Oh,” Harry sighs, realization tying his voice together. A further response doesn’t come, but his attention is on the cars behind him, where he looks while trying to merge onto the highway. “It was good, I thought. How’s ‘bout you?”

“I agree, it was good. I no longer see your dad as this big, scary bloke,” I joke, knowing I should regret it when it doesn’t pull a smile from his lips. I hardly know him, but he may still be that to Harry, because only he knows the real him. Just like with my mum. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking-.”

“Oh, yer fine, Becks,” he insists, but there’s something else. I can’t quite grasp it, despite the effort I put in to try and open his book again.

“Alright?”

“Ya, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Don’t lie to me, Harry Styles,” I insist softly, dancing my hand across until it arrives on his warm thigh. He doesn’t speak but instead, he sighs, and laces a hand with mine.

“Jus’ nervous . . still.”

“Why? It went really well tonight, Harry, without a hitch,” I tell him, unable to look away and to the window. I had lived here for years now, and so the sights hadn’t amazed me for a while now.

“I know, ‘s mad, but . . I don’t wanna get my hopes up, Becks. He’s done this befo’, charmed his way back into me life. ‘s all normal at first and almost too good t’ be true, until he turns like a light switch, explodin’ on me ‘bout somethin’ or bein’ a dick again.”

“It’s like they become another person, right?” my experiences flood my words, and all he does is nod, staring ahead at the road. Despite his silence, the tips of his calloused fingers drag up and down the spanse of my fingers. “I know how you’re feeling, and it’s okay to feel that way, Harry. I understand that you don’t want to get excited and have it all just be for nothing if he turns on you again.” Like they so often are, his nods seem silent but they’re brimming with unsaid words. Fearful ones, and worried, as well. More than he lets on. “I wish I could tell you that it’ll be okay, Harry, but I hope it’ll be.”

“Thanks, Becks. Me too,” his voice is soft, but the way his fingers press against mine is loud. He can’t help the way the worry shouts from the lines and frown on his face, either. I just hope that I can do a good job of hiding mine.

Voices drown amongst each other in my ears, one after the other. An off white mug is set down in front of me, a painting of a cat donning the front.

“Sugar? Cream?”

“Yes, please,” my answer comes, and a dish with a spoon graces the table next.

“How’ve you been, love?”

“Good, and you, Claire?” he looks like her, or so I think he does. When her eyes lift to him standing across the room, I see it in the glimmer in her eye.

“I’ve been doing well, thanks for asking. Harry seems happy.”

“Yeah, you could say that,” it comes out in a laugh, and when she shares it with me, I see the hint of a dimple in her cheek. Happiness may leak from ours, but the boisterous one of Harry’s from across the kitchen trumps ours completely. “I love his laugh.”

“Me too, it’s always been so happy, ever since he was a baby.”

When I look, nostalgia sits in the lines around her mouth and eyes, memories from the last eighty years of her life held in her eyes. A content smile doesn’t budge from her lips as she brings the mug to them again. I’d never tell anybody this, but I think Harry’s gran was my favorite of his family, despite there being so many good ones to choose from. It was the eyes and the smile, I think, where I saw him in her. Glancing between them, the happiness was contagious, just like his always is.

“What?” he chuckles when he looks to us, talking with his hands, like always. Shaking my head at him, I bring the steaming mug back to my lips, watching as he returns to talking with an old mate of his, Tommy. Every few moments, his eyes squeeze shut with another bout of laughter.

“I haven’t seen him this happy in a long time.” Turning my head, I catch her cerulean blue eyes sitting on me with a knowing smile. The similarities are absent otherwise, noting her ivory colored hair cropped short around her ears. “Thank you, Becky.”

“I don’t know what you’re thanking me for,” the pieces haven’t clicked together for me yet, sitting unsolved in the expression of confusion I give her over my mug of tea.

“I think you know.”

Her laugh is short and cute, as is the wink she gives me. Okay, maybe he is more like her than I thought. I’d only met her a few times now, starting with the first time Harry brought me home to Cheshire where he grew up, last Christmas at his Mum’s, and now for a weekend home.

“His other girlfriends, they didn’t make him happy like this. Not even close,” her explanation comes with a shake of her head, eyes on her grandson. I follow them, unable to stop looking at Harry and the sunshine that radiates from him, and his happy lips.

He was a sight for sore eyes, that’s for sure. It was always suits and ties for him at work, but at home it was a different story. Today, it was a blue cap turned backwards over his gorgeous curls, and a black and blue flannel with dark skinny jeans. “I’d never seen him more upset than around the time my husband died, that year before it seemed horrible for him too. It all had come to a head for him, it broke my heart. I wanted to ask what was going on, but wasn’t sure how to until the two of you told me how you had met the last time he brought you here, and it all made sense. The way he had lost you, and then found you again. I wouldn’t know where he’d be if it weren’t for you, Becky, and I hear a wedding is on the horizon.”

“I’m hoping so,” I muse aloud, feeling the familiar surface of the promise ring on my ring finger, remembering when we had explained it each time a question arose. “I’m not sure where I’d be without him either, he’s my anchor.”

“I don’t think you’ll have to hope, honey. He’s really serious about you,

he’s told me himself.”

“H-He has?” I don’t know why I was surprised, but I still was. The fluttering inside of my chest still came when I watched him remove his hat, and comb a hand through his matted curls. I wonder if it’d ever stop, but I was rather sure it never would.

“Can I hope to be a great grandmother again soon?”

“Excuse me?” I chuckle, having to set down my mug whilst choking on my tea.

“Sorry, love. I didn’t mean to surprise you there,” she apologizes. With red cheeks, I wipe a napkin across my face, feeling Harry’s eyes on me.

“Gran, don’t rough her up too much over there,” he quips from his Mum’s kitchen island, placing a slice of cheese on a cracker that he feeds between his lips. Somehow, he looked like how I thought he would as a teenager or a uni student with that outfit. It was cute as hell, and only made me wish more that I had known him then, because there could never be enough time with him.

“I’m not,” Claire laughs, patting my back. At last, I’ve recovered and take a long pull from my mug.

“One day soon I hope, but don’t hold your breath too much,” I decide to say, my eyes unmoving from Harry’s figure as they come out. Standing there, he talks animatedly with his friend Tommy who sits across from him on a stool, his mum doing laundry in the other room. Harper and Ollie were due to arrive soon for a family lunch, and I wasn’t sure of how it could get better, except for a little baby on Harry’s hip one day.

One step at a time, Becky, but when have we ever done things in order?

The smile on her face warms me from the inside, and it only grows as a laugh erupts on her lips, shared between her and my gran. Two of my favorite people in the entire bloody world. I’m rather sure that I could listen to that sound for my entire life, and then some.

“So, when ya plannin’ to do it, H?”

“Soon.”

Just a few more weeks, Becks, and then, forever.

38 notes · View notes

wandas-sunshine · 4 years

Text

The Muses Dance - Part 2

Summary: Steve is a fine arts major, (Y/N) is a dance major. Their meeting wasn’t supposed to be anything big, but Steve is sure he’s found his new muse, and (Y/N) is suddenly convinced that maybe she doesn’t have to choose between her career and a relationship.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 6287

Warnings: Shitty parents, description of an anxiety attack, mentions of family death

A/N: The outfits mentioned are linked here; (Y/N) Maria Natasha. This took a very long time. I ended up splitting it in half so if the ending feels a little awkward that’s why. The original chapter was unfinished and already nearing 10k words. So Part 3 is coming very soon.

Part 1 | Series Masterlist

Two weeks had passed since the fateful day that Steve and (Y/N) met. Since then, the two had spent nearly every possible moment together. Even when Steve wasn’t working on his project, he hung around (Y/N). The two of them had fallen easily into a nice sort of routine.

After their classes finished each day, Steve would sit in on the girls' showcase rehearsals. He curled up in the corner with his sketchbook, drawing (Y/N) in all of her angelic glory. The girls all noticed, he wasn’t as subtle as he liked to think. But she never said anything. She didn’t want to make him think he should stop. Honestly, she much preferred that he continue, it was flattering having all of his attention on her.

So they played their little game, day after day. The girls would finish their rehearsals, and (Y/N) would practically skip to his side. She knelt beside him, and drank down the rest of the water from her bottle.

“Whatcha drawing there, handsome?” She asked. As always, he snapped the little book shut and smiled the way that made her stomach flutter. She’d always rearrange her things in her bag so she wouldn’t just sit and stare at him.

“Nothing special. Just passing the time.” He answered. That was always his answer, and she never bothered pressing for a better one. He slipped his things back into his bag, then he’d settle it on his back. As soon as her things were put away, he was scooping that up too. Over the first week of their friendship, she had tried to change his ways. She was strong enough to carry her own bag, she had said, but he insisted that he was raised to always help a lady. Her initial confusion, the surprise, was giving way to a sort of appreciation of his chivalry.

Like every other day since she’d met Steve, (Y/N) was the first to leave their rehearsal rather than leaving hours after her friends. They bid the other girls goodbye and set off on their way towards the visual arts building. Some days she would chatter excitedly about her number, high off the post-workout endorphins. Other times Steve would take the lead, passionately telling her about his progress on his piece. On rare occasions, they wouldn’t say anything at all.

Today was one of those quiet days. Steve wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, but those were his favorite days. He adored listening to her talk, loved watching the way her eyes gleamed with pride. But these days were special. On quiet days he got a little glimpse into a more intimate part of her world. She was always in her head, and that was his favorite time to admire her.

She was so adorable, so charming, even when she wasn’t trying to be. As they walked, it would sometimes become obvious that she was still rehearsing in her head. Her eyes would close for a few moments longer, or her body would move ever so slightly to some unheard melody. There were a million other things he’d picked up on too. Like the way her nose would scrunch up if one of them fell out of step with the other. Or how she practically did a little dance to avoid the cracks in the pavement somedays. He figured that was another one of her superstitions. He’d learned plenty of those too. Wearing blue on wednesdays would bring bad luck in performance. Dancing in the rain would guarantee a well received performance. Drinking coffee the day of a performance meant the performer would get injured. They were strange, but she believed them wholeheartedly.

The way he was so content just to be at her side, even if she paid him no mind, was a bit worrisome. He was in deep with this one. He’d only fallen so hard once before, and that hadn’t ended so well for his heart. But this...this was different. It had to be.

When they reached the proper building, (Y/N) excitedly took the lead. She had learned her way around the building, thanks to a tour from Steve. She walked towards the studio that they worked in. She didn’t model for him, he didn’t need her to anymore. She just enjoyed being there, having some company, and Steve never turned her away.

She nudged the door open and flicked the lights on. Steve was only a few steps behind her. They settled into their respective places. Steve set up his space, turning on lights and laying out his materials. She curled up on the floor with her book. That was always where she ended up, getting comfy with a good book, or her homework, or sometimes she’d just sit and watch.

It was adorable the way he got when he worked. His tongue would poke out sometimes, or he’d mumble frustrated criticisms to himself. Pencils would find themselves tucked behind his ear, paint brushes ended up propped between his teeth. His long sleeves usually got pushed out of the way to reveal toned, doodle stained forearms.

And every time she noticed something new, she wondered just how many people had been observative enough to to pick up on the little quirks, the doodles, the smudges of paint. She wondered if anyone fell for them the way that she was.

“Anyone in there?” Steve asked, waving a hand in front of her face. She gave a surprised blink. She hadn’t noticed that he’d packed everything away and tidied his space back up. “Earth to (Y/N), come in (Y/N).”

She scrunched her nose and swatted his hands away. According to the digital clock on the wall, afternoon had given way to evening. The pale light of the setting sun seeped through the window shades and gave the entire room a beautiful pinkish glow.

“Shit, I must have totally zoned out.” She laughed, carefully putting her book into her bag and letting him take it from her.

“I swear if you’re still overthinking the showcase,” He gave her a stern look and she shook her head. He reached a hand down and she let him pull her to her feet.

“No, it’s not that. I’m just a little out of it today.” She promised. She stretched her arms up over her head, then swooped them back towards the ground, sighing as the muscles in her back pulled and loosened a little. “Don’t start worrying about me now.”

The walk back to her dorm was more interesting. Steve rambled with a new excitement about the progress the past few hours had provided. He lit up like a little ball of sunshine when he talked about art. He always had a passionate glimmer swimming in his sea blue eyes, it was the most amazing thing in (Y/N)’s humble opinion. She wondered if she ever looked so lovely.

“It’s really coming together.” He gushed. “And that’s mostly thanks to you. It’s looking so great! Obviously it’s not perfect, but it’s better than I thought it could be. I’m almost done, too! Might even finish it with time to spare.”

She had nearly stepped into the way of a biking student. Steve gently pulled her back on track.

“You think any of that is thanks to me?” Her voice was laced with disbelief. She hadn’t done anything but let him draw her, and several other girls had done the same thing for the exact same piece. If anything, she had been a bit of a hindrance what with her rehearsals, and her usual chatter while he worked. But his expression didn’t falter.

“Of course it’s thanks to you.” He spoke as if it were as obvious as if she’d done the art herself. “Really, I mean it. You’re my muse. Seeing you dance gave me a whole new perspective. It reminded me what it was like to really care about my art. I wanted to make people feel the same way seeing my art as I do watching you dance.”

“That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.” She confessed quietly. She shook her head before looking up at him again. None of it made sense to her, she really wasn’t all that, but it definitely felt nice to hear him say it. “I’m glad I can help. Even if I’m not really doing anything.”

They talked the rest of the way to the dorms, and when they came to a stop outside her door as they always did, Steve went quiet. (Y/N) tipped her head.

“What’s on your mind?” She asked as she tugged the strap of her bag off his shoulder. He shook his head.

“Nothing, just thinking about stopping by Buck and Tasha’s place before I go home.” He passed her bag back to her and she hoisted it onto her shoulder. Her eyes flickered down to her shoes.

“Then you should get going. Don’t let me keep you out all night.” She looked back up and smoothed her hand over his shoulder, brushing out the little wrinkles her bag had left in his jacket. “I’ll see you tomorrow? Same time?”

Blue eyes flicked across her face as she fixed his jacket, then he smiled at her. For yet another night, he imagined kissing her goodnight. Imagined dipping down to catch her soft lips with his, holding her against him until he pulled away and brushed her hair back. But he couldn’t do that. So instead he nodded.

“Same time tomorrow. Have a good night.”

As always, he waited for her to safely step inside and close the door behind her. Then he turned with his sights set on Bucky’s apartment, and his mind dancing with lovesick fantasies.

The walk was short and fairly quiet aside from the sounds of traffic. Natasha would probably beat his ass for walking the city alone after dark, but he was fully capable of protecting himself. He had bigger things to worry about.

Steve rapped impatiently at the door. On the other side, Bucky pried himself off of Natasha who was maybe even angrier than her boyfriend at the interruption. She leaned up, peppering kisses along his jaw.

“Just ignore it, they’ll go away.” She pleaded, running her hands down his bare chest. She was sure she’d convinced him to return his attention to her. It was probably just their neighbour looking for his cat again. Then came the knocking once more. This time it was louder and more persistent. Bucky groaned, burying his face in the crook of Natasha’s neck.

“Yeah, I’m coming.” He shouted, giving Nat a quick look. He grabbed a pair of sweatpants and tugged them on before stalking to the front door. He looked positively dangerous as he ripped the door open. For a split second, his expression softened as he looked upon his best friend. Steve stood there with a goofy grin on his face and a surprisingly dreamy look in his eyes. But Bucky’s softness didn’t last long.

“What do you want?” He snapped. Steve tucked his hands into his pockets with a sheepish smile. His best friend wouldn’t stay mad at him. He never could.

“I need help.” Steve answered. He clearly wasn’t hurt or particularly upset. Any other friend would have turned him away given the circumstances. But this was Bucky, and this was Steve. Steve who he could never ever manage to turn away. So he reluctantly waved him inside.

Steve was only just noticing the lack of clothing, and the fresh hickeys littered across Bucky’s collarbone. His cheeks flushed as realization struck.

“I’m interrupting something.” He observed. Bucky nodded, but he didn’t quite get the chance to speak.

“Hey, Steve.” Natasha greeted. She’d pulled on one of Bucky’s shirts and it easily engulfed her. “You’re here awfully late.”

The words were half sincere and half irritated aggression towards the blonde. He flinched a tiny bit, but took a deep breath.

“I like her.” He blurted out, looking between the two. Both of them shared a look. They knew who he was talking about, but that didn’t explain why he had come bursting into their apartment at a quarter past nine at night. It wasn’t his first crush.

“Okay?” Bucky prompted, waving a hand for him to go on. The situation seemed fairly straight forward. He was head over heels for her, she was smitten with him. He would ask her out, and they would live happily ever after. Voila! “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t know what to do!” Steve groaned. “She’s not just some dame I can charm. She’s special, she deserves something special.”

Natasha groaned out loud, moving to perch on the arm of the couch. She wasn’t sure she’d heard anything so ridiculous in her entire life. She loved Steve, but sometimes he was an absolute idiot.

“Relax, Steve. She already likes you. I swear all I hear anymore is ‘Steve is so sweet’, ‘have you seen his arms?’, ‘Steve is so talented’.” She mocked with a smirk. “Which is better than ‘I was awful, we have to run that section again’. Just ask her on a date!”

“I can’t just ask her!”

“The showcase.” Bucky intervened quickly. He loved his best friend like a brother, but he was beginning to sound like his little sister during her highschool years. “Ask her out at the showcase. That’s a big deal, right?”

Steve jumped from the seat he’d taken on the couch and grabbed his discarded bag.

“Bucky, you’re a genius!” He beamed brightly and headed for the door. He had an idea, and he needed to get started. “Thanks guys.”

The couple didn’t say anything as he rushed out the door.

When (Y/N) made it into her dorm, she found Wanda pacing the floor and reciting lines. Her twin brother Pietro was sprawled on her bed with the script held above his face. That was a bit pointless really since she’d had her lines memorized since two days after getting the script.

She sat her things down and kicked off her shoes. Usually she’d be mouthing along to Wanda’s performance, or listening to her track and working through choreography. But something else had her distracted. So she curled up with her stuffed dragon held to her chest, staring into space and daydreaming. She snapped out of it at Pietro’s loud laugh.

“What?” She asked, eyebrows drawing together in confusion when she realized that both of the twins were looking in her direction.

“Pietro was talking to you. I told him that you had that dreamy look on your face so you wouldn’t care about talking to boys.” She explained, shoving her brother’s legs so she could sit comfortably on her bed.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” She propped her head up and glared at her friends.

“Every time your eyes go all dreamy, you’re thinking about Steve!” Wanda burst into giggles and (Y/N) rolled onto her back. That was absolute bullshit! Right?

“You’re both idiots.” She insisted with a smile on her lips.

“I’ve barely been around 10 minutes and I can tell it’s true.” Pietro argued. She didn’t look away from the spot on the ceiling, but she lifted her hand to flip him off.

“All you talk about is Steve. You spend more time with him than you do with me.” A little teasing pout crept onto Wanda’s lips as she spoke. It was undeniable really. (YN) sighed softly and sat up to face the twins.

“Okay, so I like him!” She huffed in defeat. “I really like him. He’s special.”

The twins shared a look. A silent ‘I-told-you-so’. Then Pietro leaned forward. He’d gotten fairly good at the whole girl talk thing over the years with Wanda and her friends.

“Special?” He prompted.

“Yeah, I’ve never really cared about dating, or settling down. It always clashed with my dreams, with my career. But this..this is different. He rivals my passion, and my dedication, and my ambition. And he balances out my psycho obsessive anxiety. He’s just incredible, you know? He’s so confident, handsome, chivalrous. And he’s smart, too! Can you even believe that? He can’t possibly be that perfect, but he is! He checks all the boxes. I’ve never met a man like him — no offense, Piet — and he seems to actually like me. He doesn’t want my body, or my career, or my reputation. Just me.

“Then, as if that simply isn’t enough. I could really imagine things working. Usually I could picture a couple dates, a fling. My career has to come first, and nobody seems to understand that. But Steve does. He doesn’t care that dance is my first love. He has the same relationship with his art.

“Can’t you just see it? A cute little apartment while I dance. He’d be making the most beautiful art. He’d have art shows, I’d have performances. We could make it big. Maybe get married, have a couple sticky little kids. It’s a dream.”

She bit her lip, and her face burned with embarrassment as she realized how much she’d just confessed. She’d never fallen for someone this way.

She hadn’t noticed Pietro getting up. He grabbed his things and walked across the small room. He pressed a sweet, brotherly kiss to (Y/N)’s head.

“You’re in deep. You should tell the poor guy.” He told her before walking to the door. She didn’t even try to argue. “Have a good night, ladies.”

The next day rolled around, and as promised, their routine continued. (Y/N) danced her heart out and refused to believe that her performance was anywhere near good enough. Steve sat in the corner and worked on a new sketch. He cared more about this one. She would see it after all. It had to be impressive. Had to be perfect.

“Whatcha drawing, Stevie?” She asked, grabbing her towel and drying her sweat. Steve snapped the book shut quicker than usual. It wasn’t ready for her eyes just yet. He tucked it into his bag and flashed her a smile.

“Nothing much. You’re looking really good.” He said standing up as she packed her things away. She gave him a curious look, her eyebrows lifting in a silent question. He took a second to process just what he’d said, then he began to blush and stammer out a response. “Well not...I just meant your dance! Your dance looks...good. Well, not good! Really good...great.”

She covered her giggle at his nervousness. The way he panicked, and the pink that burned on his cheeks were simply adorable. It was even sort of odd. At first glance, he didn’t seem the type to get nervous or to fluster so easily. But (Y/N) knew better than that. She uncovered her smile as her giggles subsided.

“Thanks. The last few bars still need some work. And I’m not sure I’m hitting some of the beats quite right. During my little solo, you know?” She shrugged and zipped her bag. Steve didn’t know exactly, he didn’t understand most of what she said when she talked about the technical details. But she seemed to be criticizing herself again, and she definitely didn’t need to.

“Well, it looks beautiful from here.” He pulled her bag up onto his shoulder. She murmured a small thank you and brushed some loose hair back from her face.

“I think we’re gonna get going.” She called to where Maria and Natasha were chatting. The redhead looked up and smiled towards Steve with a small nod.

“Have fun you two.” Maria shot the pair a teasing wink that made (Y/N)’s stomach twist with nerves.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you guys later.” She waved to her friends and slipped her hand into Steve’s just for a moment, tugging him towards the door. And like the lovesick puppy he was, he followed without a single hesitation. They walked through the halls side by side, dodging out of the way of other students.

“You know, I think you’re too hard on yourself.” Steve pointed out as they burst into the sunshine. “You’re so talented, but you’re never happy with yourself.”

Of course she knew that she was too hard on herself. She’d been hearing it her entire life. People said she’d dance herself to death one day, but it was her emotional outlet.

“Yeah, maybe I am. But I have so much to prove. Especially now. You know how competitive it is out there.”

“Well sure, but...you’re an amazing dancer. You shouldn’t doubt yourself.” His eyes lingered on hers. He knew she could do pretty much anything she set her mind to. She was incredible.

“Thanks Steve. But I have to be better than amazing. Nobody ever believed I would make it this far. My parents were less than thrilled when I decided to major in dance instead of something ‘practical’. They wanted me to get a business degree, or go into nursing.” She vented with a shake of her head. “If I ever want to make them proud again then I have to be the best.”

Steve frowned as she went on about the lack of support from her parents. It was heartbreaking. His parents weren’t around anymore, but his mother had been endlessly supportive of anything he wanted to do.

“You shouldn’t try to make them proud. You should make yourself proud first. And your family is supposed to support you no matter what.” His hand brushed against hers like he was just itching to hold it, to squeeze it, to remind her that it wasn’t just her against the world. He’d never let it be just her against the world.

“What about your family? They support your art?” She asked, looking down at the ground and absentmindedly skipping over a crack on the sidewalk. Steve smiled, but she didn’t notice.

“I didn’t know my dad. He died before I was even born. My mom was amazing. She supported everything I did. She would have loved you, you know?” He glanced towards the sky with a sad sort of smile that made (Y/N)’s heart ache in her chest. “But she died when I was in highschool.”

She gasped softly and covered her mouth. Of course she had gone and brought up awful memories. But Steve didn’t seem as bothered as she was. He took a couple long strides to hold the door open for her before continuing on.

“Since then Buck and Nat have been my family. Sam came along our freshman year here. They’re like my support team. They stick with me through everything.” He smiled brightly as he went on about his friends. She did too, thinking about her own friends.

“I guess I have a couple friends like that. Wanda and Pietro Maximoff. And Nat I suppose too.” She said over her shoulder as the two of them headed up the stairs.

“And you have me.” Steve added, a small, semi-nervous smile dancing on his lips. “You’ve got plenty of support.”

“You are simply amazing.” She said after a moment, making sure he wasn’t going to take it back, or shout syke, or do some other very un-Steve-like thing. But he didn’t.

“You can count on me, doll. Anything you need.”

“I appreciate it. You’re going to regret that offer, but I do appreciate it. I appreciate you.” Steve hardly gave a moment for his heart to start beating again, flashing a smile and opening the next door for her.

“I couldn’t regret a thing when it comes to you.”

With one week left before the showcase, students were under more stress than ever. Teachers were running exam prep, and everyone was working themselves overtime to get ready for the showcase.

(Y/N), Natasha, and Maria found themselves back in the fashion design wing.One last fitting before they’d be able to do their dress rehearsal. It was cutting things close, but it was a miracle that they’d managed to find someone willing to make three brand new costumes at all. Natasha had convinced one of the seniors to design them. And he truly had delivered.

Maria was being fitted first. Tony made a few comments as he adjusted the black and red corset and fixed the tulle that fell down the back. The freshman that always trailed at his heels like a lost puppy quickly jotted them down for final touches.

“Tony, you’ve really outdone yourself.” (Y/N) mused as Maria was waved off to change back into her usual clothes. Natasha laughed.

“Don’t say things like that, they go straight to his head.” She nudged her friend to get up and change into her costume as Maria came back to take a seat. (Y/N) swatted the redheads hand away and took the costume that Peter handed her with a hushed thank you. She slipped behind the privacy screen and stripped off her everyday clothes. Then she carefully changed into the stunning costume. A ruby red two piece embellished with more rhinestones than she could imagine attaching to anything. Sheer fabric draped from the back, tickling against her legs.

A volley of playful whistles rang out from her friends as she walked out. Peter even blushed so hard that she was worried he’d get a nosebleed or something. She did a little twirl and tucked her hair behind her ear. Tony stepped forward, entirely disregarding any concept of personal space as he adjusted the costume.

“If that doesn’t get Steve’s attention, I don’t know what will.” Maria piped up. (Y/N)’s cheeks burned. If looks could kill, Maria would be a goner.

“Please. All of Steve Rogers’ attention has been on her for weeks now. He just needs to get off his ass and do something about it.” Nat added fearlessly, and the brunette hummed her agreement. (Y/N) buried her face in her hands.

“Steve Rogers? You got the hots for the golden boy?” Tony asked as he straightened up and mumbled something about pushing her chest a little higher.

“Don’t say it that way,” She complained, uncovering her face and glancing anywhere but the faces of her friends. “Yes, I like Steve. I really like him.”

This brought a grin to Nat’s face that had her a little nervous. But she’d also gotten fairly used to that. Natasha was always plotting something or other.

“Don’t worry. He feels the same way.” She promised as Tony shoved (Y/N) back towards the privacy screen to change again. “He’s just too worried about impressing you to realize that he already has.”

She rolled her eyes. There was no way that was true. Firstly, she was in no way special enough to catch his attention that way. Secondly, he didn’t have to worry about impressing anyone, especially her. He just sort of managed with that charming smile and the general kindness. He was like something from a fairytale.

“I’m gonna be honest. I don’t see what the big deal is with him.” Maria shrugged as Natasha and (Y/N) swapped places.

“He’s hunky, and he has that whole gentle giant, starving artist thing going for him.” Tony answered easily. She rolled her eyes. Although...he was definitely hunky. And the gentle giant, starving artist thing didn’t hurt.

“You guys are so weird.” She giggled and picked at a loose thread on her jeans. “It’s so much more than that.”

“Yeah, well what is it then?” Nat asked, strutting out to Tony’s pedestal. She looked stunning in her black and red corset. Her black heels gave her a boost of height and her red hair fell over her shoulders. It was unfair that she was always such a knockout.

“He’s cute, and intelligent, and so passionate.” At her words, Tony flashed her a smirk and her eyes went wide. “Not like that! I just mean...he’s passionate about his art, you know?”

“Of course you would fall for something like that.” Maria teased. (Y/N) practically ruffled, shifting defensively.

“But that’s exactly what I mean! Nobody really sees why he’s so special. He’s deep, complex. He’s not like any guy I’ve met before. He’s just so much...more.” She ranted before giving a soft sigh of admiration.

“You’ve got it bad sweetheart.” Tony laughed. “You sound like me when I talk about Pep.”

Everyone knew about Tony and his Pepper. He was like a starry eyed kid when he was around her. Pepper Potts was a big shot in the music production course at the school. Everyone knew she’d make it big soon.

“I don’t know. I think it’s sweet.” Peter piped up for the first time in a while, a sweet smile on his innocent face as he looked at (Y/N). “It’s romantic. You being so in love with him and seeing him for something more than his body.”

“It’s just a silly little crush.” She lied. Even just saying so felt strange, like she was ignoring something that she never wanted to hide ever again. It was so much more than a silly little crush. But what right did she have to call it love?

T-minus two days to the showcase, and (Y/N) was most certainly working her ass off. Exams were finally over, and all she was worried about was her damn routine. Every spare moment was spent rehearsing. She’d hardly seen Steve face to face since exams had begun. She texted him any time she allowed herself to take a break.

She was pretty sure she was one of the only people still in the building. She’d been working herself to the edge for nearly six hours now. Her brain was going numb, her body screamed with every move she made, and every bit of her was trembling with exhaustion. But with every rep, her eyes found something new to nitpick.

That wasn’t smooth enough. You’re not hitting the points. You aren’t expressive enough. You aren’t enough. You’re never going to make it. You’ll never be any good. You’re talentless.

She hadn’t realized she’d started crying. She stared at herself in the massive, looming mirror that spanned the wall. She was just so small there, standing all alone in the middle of the room, chest heaving and tears streaking down her cheeks. She was hopeless. She wiped her face desperately and curled up in Steve’s corner.

She had texted him the last time she had let herself sit down. Which was — she glanced at her phone — two hours earlier. She sat her phone down and pulled her knees to her chest and tried her best to calm herself down. She was being pathetic. She’d been through worse, why was this throwing her. She sniffled. She needed someone to talk her down. But it was nearly 8pm. Natasha was with Buck, she was sure of it. Wanda was out with Pietro at his insistence. Maria hardly ever answered her texts, let alone her calls.

“And you have me,” Steve’s words rang out in her head. She picked up her phone again and pressed the call button by Steve’s contact. One ring. What was she thinking? Two rings. She was stupid to call him out of the blue. Three rings. She should-

“Hello?” Steve’s voice came through, and hers caught in her throat. She clapped her hand over her mouth to muffle the shaky sob that slipped out. “(Y/N)? You there?”

Steve had been in the shower when he heard the ringing. So of course he brushed it off. But when it didn’t stop, he assumed it wasn’t something he should ignore. Once he made out her contact, he was out in an instant, dripping water onto the tile of his bathroom without a thought.

“Stevie?” She asked finally. “Is this a bad time?”

“What? No! No, now’s fine. Are you okay?” He awkwardly held his towel around his waist. She sounded rough. Something was wrong. He could hear the tremble in her voice, the way her breath seemed to stutter. His shower was the last thing on his mind.

“Do you think I’m a good dancer, Steve?” She asked instead of giving him a straight answer. He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to, she’d heard him say it a million times before.

“(Y/N), talk to me. What’s going on?” He pushed, already moving towards his room to dress. She needed him and he was not going to let her down.

“I’ve been working on my number all day, Stevie. All day, and I’m still no good.” She sobbed and pressed her palm against her eyes.

“Go take a shower.” Steve ordered. “Drink some water. I’ll meet you outside the building in 20 minutes.”

“Steve,”

“No, go get cleaned up. 20 minutes.” He didn’t let up, and after a moment she gave in. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

He let her hang up, and rushed to get himself dressed

Meanwhile, (Y/N) was just trying to follow his instructions. She packed her things back into her bag and lifted it onto her achy shoulder. She flicked off the lights and closed the door behind her. On the walk to the showers, she downed what was left in her water bottle.

Usually her showers would only take 5 minutes, but as she stood under the nearly scalding spray, she felt her muscles relax, felt her panic begin to ebb into a tight coil of anxiety in her chest. So she stayed there until the water cooled to an uncomfortable icy drizzle. 10 minutes left until she’d have to face him.

She dried herself out and changed into her clean clothes. A sweater and her leggings. She pushed her hair back. Five minutes. For the first time ever, she was dreading seeing Steve.

By the time she made it outside, Steve was already pacing there waiting for her. His hands were jammed into his pockets, and his hair was damp and messy. But the moment she came into view, he froze and looked her over. Her eyes were still bloodshot from the crying, and it was clear that she was nervous by the way she fiddled with her sleeves. He didn’t know what made him do it, but he met her halfway and bundled her up safe and warm into a tight hug.

She relaxed into him, pressing her cheek against his chest and hugging him just as tightly. They stayed that way for a long time, longer than either of them bothered to count. He kept his arms wrapped protectively around her, and she clung to him like her life depended on it, just listening to the steady beat of his heart. For a brief moment of time, she was okay, she was safe, and she was enough.

“You had me really worried.” Steve confessed softly. She tilted her chin up to look at him. Their faces were almost dangerously close, intimately close. And with her chest pressed to his that way, he could surely feel the way her heart hammered against her ribs.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you.” She mumbled, and he shook his head so quickly it nearly startled her. He only hoped she didn’t really regret calling him. But the fact that her hands had fisted into his dark blue tee eased his mind. “Didn’t mean for you to come all the way here so late.”

Steve scoffed and brushed his thumb against the tiny sliver of exposed skin where her sweater had ridden up.

“I told you that you’ve got me. I’d do anything to make sure you’re okay.” His eyes met hers, and the simple sincerity behind the blue she’d fallen for had her stomach swirling.

“You are a real prince, Steve Rogers.” She practically whispered. This man was too good to be true, and much too good to be hers. Steve didn’t say anything, but even in the near darkness she noticed the way his cheeks went pink.

“When’s the last time you ate?” He asked, slowly letting his arms slip from around her.

“About four hours ago.” She didn’t bother mentioning that even then she’d only had a granola bar. But Steve still didn’t seem satisfied with the length of time.

“Come on, there’s a little place that you might like.” He gently took her bag from her shoulder and nodded for her to walk with him. She didn’t speak, just following along at his side. He didn’t press her to say anything, and she appreciated it more than words could say. Eventually though, her guilt got the better of her.

“My mom called me. Her and my dad are coming to see me dance at the showcase.” She confessed suddenly. Steve gave her a look. That would explain her panic. He knew how tense things were, how useless they’d made her feel. Something in him just hoped she wouldn’t let their opinions tear her down completely.

“Is that why you were dancing so hard today?” She nodded, and they were both quiet for another long moment.

“My parents have never come to a showcase. My dad hasn’t even seen my dance since I graduated highschool. But now they decide to come to the mid-year showcase my junior year?” Her anxiety was beginning to give way to anger. Years of no support from the most important people in her life, and they suddenly decide to come back as if they’d never abandoned her.

“Maybe they’re coming around. Better late than never, right?” Steve wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave a little squeeze. She smiled and let herself melt into him. “Come on. This is it.”

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers #captain america imagine #captain america fanfic #captain america #steve rogers reader insert #steve rogers x reader #marvel reader insert #marvel imagine #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #fluff #imagine #x reader #reader insert #the muses dance

24 notes · View notes

getalittleclosey · 4 years

Text

under 50k larry fic rec

hi! i’m becca and i read...so much fic. these rec lists are an accumulation of fic that i’ve read or reread and extra loved from 2016-now. there’s a wide range of stuff here and i think there’s definitely something for everyone!! i divided them up by length so you can check out all those categories below!

please make sure to read tags and warnings on all these fics!! the only things i think i can guarantee is that these are all larry, there’s no non-con, no age play, no eating disorders, no mentions of bg, they end happy, and they’re mostly aus. oh and they’re all on ao3 and some are locked so you’ll need an account! anyway i hope y’all enjoy!!!

under 5k

under 10k

under 25k

under 100k

100k+

☆ the beginning of everything by thedeathchamber 31k

“How do you take it?” Harry asked, pouring tea into a cup.

“Just a dash of milk, please,” Louis cast a look over the small table, filled to capacity. “They’re very fond of you.”

Harry ducked his head, grinning. “They’re trying to impress you.”

Louis smiled, shaking his head. “Why would they want to do that?” he asked as he took the cup Harry passed to him, their fingers brushing for an instant.

“Empathy,” Harry said under his breath.

A Belle Époque AU set (mostly) in Paris in which Harry is a struggling artist, in more ways than one, and Louis is a successful theatre critic and a failed writer, more or less.

☆ to kill the mess we’ve made by misandrogyny 43k

And when he's finally standing, Liam fussing over him, rubbing his hand at the red mark blooming on Harry's forehead, does Harry learn two things:

One, he wasn't actually hit that hard, and Tommo--or Louis, rather--is just as pretty when Harry is staring at him head-on and,

Two, Louis is the Adidas model he's going to be working with on today's photo shoot.

(or: AU where Harry and Louis are both models, and they decide being friends-with-benefits is a great idea. It isn't.)

☆ heart open, bloodstain on my sleeve by silkbombs (mulberrygrey) 36k

“I couldn’t help myself,” Harry admits, one hand coming to rub the back of his neck, “I stared at you for a good while before I finally got the guts to come up to you. You looked so pretty sitting there, with your little ankles and your pencil in your mouth, so enthralling… art in front of art.”

Louis’ not sure what to say, so he just kind of sits there, eyes bugging out as he stares at Harry.

“I mean, like you’re not an object!” Harry rushes out, babbling.

“I just, there’s something about you that’s so captivating, and maybe it’s the way your eyes are like a watercolor painting of the sea, or how delicate your hands look when you draw, but I just wanted to get to know you. It’s not like I pick up random boys at art museums usually, I swear. Not that I’m trying to pick you up! Unless you want to be…God, fuck I’m sorry this is so awkward now. I can go, um, if you want."

--- Or, the one where Harry's the long limbed, gangly, sweetheart who just happens be a high profile art thief who conducts heists for a living and Louis' the loud, pushy art student who just happens to steal his heart.

☆ a king beside you by stylinsoncity 26k

When the aliens invade, the last thing Louis expects is to fall in love.

☆ the boys of summer by afirethatcannotdie 45k

“I mean…we’re gonna have to sneak around anyway, yeah? Like, with that whole rules thing that I guess we’ve decided to ignore. Might make it a little more fun this way.”

AU. In which Louis is a reluctant sports coach, Harry's a fellow counselor who wears tiny yellow shorts, and camp rules say they're forbidden to date.

☆ don’t let the tide come and take me by kiwikero 29k

The aquarium in the lobby has been there as long as Louis can remember, and so has the merman inside. That is, until the day Louis loses his job and decides to set the creature free.

They set off on a road trip to the sea, learning to communicate more and more each day. Their destination is LA, but the closer they get and the more Louis gets to know the merman, the more he dreads having to say goodbye.

Or, the one where Louis decides to set a merman free and ends up finding his own freedom along the way.

☆ introduction to dynamics by juliusschmidt 29k

Louis Tomlinson is the outspoken omega in the 'Introduction to Dynamics' course Harry wishes he didn't have to take. He's nearly certain to present as a beta, after all. Things will be simple for him.

☆ saved tonight by objectlesson 31k

Harry is the world's most persistent seduction-baker, a questionable dog-sitter, and Louis's biggest fan. Louis hasn't written in years, is trying to pass loneliness off as cynicism, and absolutely hates his fans. It's probably destiny.

☆ once upon a dream by objectlesson 27k

“M’not gonna half-ass our fake relationship,” Louis almost snaps, voice sharp with a defensive edge, like Harry wandered too close to a bruise with needy fingers. “Now kiss me again. We’re gonna make every shitty tourist here wish they had stayed in the Midwest. We’re gonna burn Disneyland down with our gay. ”

Harry shuts his eyes and opens his mouth, because he can’t fucking say no to Louis.

Or, a fake dating AU where everyone is lying and they happen to be at the Happiest Place on Earth.

☆ rivers ‘til i reach you by embodied 29k

Louis can’t begin to understand how he’s always this close and still can’t manage to make Harry his. He stands up and gets another beer. AU. Louis studies astronomy; Harry studies Louis. They spend their summers on the water and it shouldn't be complicated (spoiler: it is).

☆ life was a song, you came along by rainbowninja167 38k

It's embarrassing how long it takes Louis to recognize his own song. Niall had sung it as a bright, hopeful love song, and that’s honestly how Louis had always assumed it should sound. But this new voice, slow and rough, stripped of any backing instrument, has infused the lyrics with just the tumultuous mix of fear and defiance that Louis can remember so clearly from the night he wrote them. It’s not a comfortable thing, to feel like someone is singing all your secrets back to you.

Louis is a songwriter trapped in a lie that could ruin his best friend's career. Harry owns a record store, distrusts everyone in the music industry on principle, but loves Niall Horan's newest album. A modern retelling of Singin' in the Rain.

☆ learning to eat by photo41 29k

Celebrity chef Louis Tomlinson has a problem. He’s opening his first restaurant in 9 weeks, and he has yet to hire a pastry chef- apparently people think he’s ‘standoffish’ and ‘rude’ and ‘quick to temper’. Whatever. He ends up saddled with an annoying, happy-go lucky rookie who also happens to be obnoxiously good looking. His tv presenter and pop star best friends only add to the drama, and for fucks sake would everyone please stop quoting Julia Child?!

Kitchen AU where Harry helps Louis re-learn how to eat. (METAPHORICALLY)

note: just to clarify this is NOT an eating disorder fic don’t worry

☆ runner on third by kikikryslee 40k

As Harry stood there, the other man turned around, and he knew he was correct in who he thought it was. “Louis?” he asked, still not quite believing it. Louis blinked. “Harry? Wh– what are you doing here?” “I work here,” Harry said. “What are you doing here?” “Um, I’m picking up my brother. The nurse called and said he was sick.” Harry felt like he was going to be sick. “Wait, Ernest is your brother? Since when do you have a brother?” “Since about seven years ago, I guess. Wait, how do you know Ernest?” “I’m his teacher.” “You’re his what?” Louis exclaimed. Harry gulped. This was going to be a long year. --- Or, the AU where Louis and Harry were best friends growing up, but lost touch after Harry moved away. Ten years later, Harry has moved back to town, but he and Louis don't pick up where they left off.

note: there are four fics in this series that total to 60k

☆ roots by cherrystreet 43k

There aren’t many things that make Harry Styles nervous. He’s spent the past couple of years on and off various stages, filled with screaming fans, all chanting his name, loud and adoring. He’s done countless interviews, some even on live, national television, never faltering over his words, answers meticulously planned out, smooth and steady. He’s signed countless autographs, taken just as many photos, and even when he sat in his label’s studio, waiting to see how high up on the charts his single made it, he didn’t feel uneasy or uncomfortable. It’s all been unbelievably fun. No, there aren’t many things that make Harry Styles nervous.

Enter Louis Tomlinson.

☆ once upon a dream by thedeathchamber 33k

Louis is psychic and gets caught in the middle of a murder investigation led by FBI Special Agent Harry Styles.

aka. the Medium/Criminal Minds-inspired AU no one ever asked for.

note: there’s a 24k sequel for this!

☆ the melody you never heard by bananasandboots 30k

It's one last adventure. One last chance to be young and carefree. One final weekend before they take up their internships, their corporate positions, before they enter the real world, fresh out of university. Niall's his best mate. Liam's been there for him since they were lost, little freshmen, trying to find their ways through an overwhelming first year. Harry can't disappoint them, even if it means enduring four days with Louis.

Louis, who he does share a history with, a history he's never told anyone about, not even Niall, a history he hasn't brought up in three years because it's stupid and embarrassing and confusing.

Or, the one where Harry gets roped into a four-day camping trip with the boy who kissed him and never called back.

☆ born to make you happy by objectlesson 26k

Harry makes a quiet vow to himself that he will be the very best girlfriend Louis has ever had, even if he never actually gets to be Louis’s girlfriend.

note: i literally had to take a break and reread this cause i love it so much

☆ close to nowhere by angelichl 35k

“I will kill you in your sleep,” Louis threatened as he quickly stepped out of his jeans.

“I don’t think that would work very well baby, seeing as you talk to dead people all the time.”

“I’ll kill you in your sleep and ignore your ghost. And don’t call me that.”

Louis and Harry are psychics who kind of hate each other. They go to Tennessee to investigate a haunting.

☆ adrenaline by reveries_passions 38k

“Harry Styles,” Nameless Boy who now has a name says. Louis is too busy having an internal crisis to realize the boy has just introduced himself as Harry Styles. Harry Styles, only son of Des Styles, PhD, Dean of Harvard Medical School. Harry Styles, known by everyone and their grandmother. Harry Styles, star rower. Harry Styles, youngest enrolled student in graduate school at Harvard University. Oh my god, Louis thinks, mortified. I just slept with Harry Styles. As he reaches out tentatively to shake the boy’s hand, another thought hits him. Oh my god. Harry Styles is gay.

louis tomlinson, college dropout, up and coming dj, and gay activist, is the notorious owner of exclusive underground gay club, adrenaline.

harry styles, med student by day, partier by night, child prodigy and seemingly heterosexual son of harvard professors, is the youngest and arguably the smartest student at harvard medical school.

or: a one night stand wasn't supposed to become the greatest love story of the 21st century.

☆ bloodsport by tofiveohfive 40k

“You know how our next game is against the Cardinals, right? You remember how vicious those guys can get. I wanted us to come up with some plays, maybe work on a block from the left—”

Louis stops when he hears a chuckle.

He doesn’t think he’s said anything particularly funny, so he turns to Harry, waiting for an explanation.

“‘S funny, ‘s all.” Harry throws his finished bottle somewhere near the other discarded ones. “This is the first time you’re talking to me in eight months, and it’s still about football.”

☆ the haunting of louis tomlinson helloamhere 31k

“I'm not afraid of ghosts,” Louis said.

Every single magnet unstuck itself from the fridge and fell to the floor in a clattering cascade.

“I'm only a little afraid of ghosts,” Louis said.

*** OR: Louis is a plucky Gothic Heroine, Harry is a Mournful Spirit, and Big Country Houses are full of mystery and suspense, as Big Country Houses ever are!

☆ can i not like you for a while? by larryshares 43k

louis tomlinson is awful. harry is just as difficult, and they're both terrible to each other. it makes being in the same acapella group together quite complicated.

☆ delight in masques by kassio 28k

Popstar Louis Tomlinson has been pulling one over on the mortals for years. In the five years since he put on a human illusion and tried out for the X Factor, none of them have realised that he’s one of the Fair Folk – a cat shapeshifter, to be precise – and he’d like to keep it that way.

When he returns to the X Factor as a guest judge, the last thing he expects is for some half-Siren fool to use magic on the judges. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what Harry Styles does. Now Louis has to track down some rogue changeling before he exposes them all. Even worse? Apparently, Harry doesn’t even know what he is.

(An urban fantasy adventure, set in the world of - but not crossing over with - the October Daye book series. No need to be familiar with those books; I just want to give credit where it's due on a lot of the worldbuilding.)

☆ no love like your love by rearviewdreamer 43k

When it comes to saving the world from itself and convincing rich CEOs of environmentally harmful companies to go green, there's nobody better than Harry Styles. That is, until Louis Tomlinson, his ex and former Alpha, is involved.

note: i love vegan harry styles

☆ for neither never nor ever by fairytalelights 29k

Then Harry looked down. A newspaper was on the steps in front of him, looking new, like it had only just gotten delivered but no one had bothered to carry it inside yet. That, in itself, wasn't unusual. The unusual thing was the headline, Chernobyl - Half a Year Later, and the date in the corner. 5th November 1986. He looked up to stare at the girl in the doorway one last time, before he did the only logical thing his body knew how to do in this situation. He bolted.

or, the one where Harry travels through time and has to come to terms with losing everything he's ever known. Louis might be the only thing that feels real.

☆ worth dying for by whoknows 45k

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Louis says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. In the center of the table, a set of three glossy photos stares up at him, mocking him.

“A security detail is non-negotiable, Louis, you know this,” his mum reminds him, tapping the middle photo with two fingers.

Louis doesn’t look back down at the pictures, gesturing towards them wildly, over-dramatically. “This is not a security detail!” he protests. “This is a lanky college student. In what world do you hire someone like this kid to protect me?”

☆ listen to your heart by lovelarry10 35k

Are you kidding me right now?

I… No? Louis frowned, feeling angry now. It wasn’t fair, he knew that, but at the same time, he couldn’t help his feelings. It felt like this had been brewing for weeks, and this was it. Give it a rest, Harry.

Why are you such a brat? Why can’t you just be happy for me for once?

You think I want to hear about you kissing James? Really, H? There’s things I just don’t need to know, okay? I’m your best mate, not your fucking relationship advisor…

*****

Louis has always been comfortable being Harry’s one and only. When Harry starts to branch out, Louis has a hard time letting him go.

Harry is very lucky to have someone who listens to what he has to say, despite the fact that he’s deaf. He’s finally feeling like he’s coming into himself, but Louis seems bothered by his newfound confidence.

☆ another day gettin’ into trouble by whoknows 26k

Harry’s drunk when the idea occurs to him. He’s also a pop star, so sometimes his drunk ideas turn into actual things instead of just ideas. The clone-a-willy kit is one of them.

In Harry’s defense, when he first thinks about it his intention is just to buy the kit and give it to Louis to make his own dildo with, because that’s what he wants anyway, right? To have a penis filling him up?

Then he realizes that it would be weird if Louis made a copy of his own dick to fuck himself with. It’d be super weird. Louis fucking himself? That’s a weird idea. Harry’s pretty sure Louis wouldn’t like that.

Clearly the only solution here is to use his own dick for the mold.

☆ all the right moves by cherrystreet 32k

This is the third game in a row that Harry has been distracted by the noisy boy in the stands, five rows back.

There’s really no reason that he should feel compelled to stare into the audience as frequently as he is, but he can’t help it. This boy is a nuisance. And he’s loud. Even from basketball court with nine other players running by him, shoes squeaking on the shiny hardwood floor, and thousands of cheering college students, Harry can hear this boy nearly shrieking, his laugh more like a cackle than anything.

It’s seriously obnoxious.

☆ play the odds by alivingfire 26k

Harry and Louis are best friends since childhood who, after a night of drinking, find themselves locked in a bet: first one to kiss the other a thousand times wins. Wins what? They don't know. Glory, Harry supposes. Bragging rights, though those don't do much in this economy. All Harry knows is that this is one bet he can finally win. What he doesn't expect, though, is what happens when he starts kissing his best friend on a daily basis.

Namely, he doesn't expect falling head over heels in love with his best friend.

Now all he has to do is make sure the bet never ends, so he never has to stop kissing Louis.

#fic rec #mine #larry stylinson #one direction #apparently i really love objectlesson #cause they have fics on every list i think #30 of these!#fic masterpost

13 notes · View notes

fell-in-love-didnt-you · 5 years

Text

Five Times I Wanted to Kiss You, and One Time You Did, Too

Oh, my god. I spent actual hours on this, It's a 26 page word doc. Word count of 10k +. Holy shit.

My friend will anonymously say “fic waz good” and I will tell theme tickety boo bebop. If you’re reading this, you know.

Okay, enjoy about six hours of my life poured into a fic I love more than anything I’ve ever written ever even outside the wonderful carry on fandom.

Oh, also, basically Chapter 61 happened but no kissing. Basically, all kissing that is canon has been taken out unless it happened between Agatha and simon. okay enjoy (putting a read more cuz it’s fucking long)

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20051074

Baz figures it out fifth year, but he knows it has festered in the back of his brain long before this point. Maybe it has even been there since the first time they met. Being raised to hate the Chosen One doesn’t exactly mean you’re going to comply.

And he certainly does hate Snow. Stupid fucking hair, stupid fucking walk, and stupid fucking everything and anything else Baz can think of. He can’t even hold a wand right unless Bunce shows him first. Pathetic choice for a Chosen One.

And the whole “I’m going to follow you around until I finally catch you draining rats and defiling virgins” act also doesn’t let Baz sit on these confusing emotions for more than three seconds alone. Seriously, is it all some cosmic joke? Is some long-forgotten enemy of the Pitches sitting Upstairs somewhere, laughing until they cry, and also making sure Baz doesn’t have a fucking second alone?

If so, fuck you, Baz thinks. Fuck you and your whole lineage, if someone ever felt bad enough to sleep with you.

That is another thing: the wanting to sleep with Simon Snow, Mage’s heir, resident Good Boy, and savior of the magical world. Also, the boyfriend to the stunningly gorgeous Agatha Wellbelove, who also may have a thing for Baz, too. And Baz is flattered, honestly. He and Wellbelove would make some beautiful children that would dominate the magical world. Hell, maybe he’d name them all Simon Snow Pitch just to piss off the Golden Boy.

He wants so bad to feel anything else for anyone else. He’d fuck a chimera if he thought for one second it would clear this blinding, aching need to touch and be touched by the one person most disgusted by his presence. Anyone else. He’d marry Bunce, or a second cousin, or a tree.

But that feeling, that “It’s you; it’s going to be you” has sat in the pit of Baz’s stomach for five years before deciding to take root at the base of his brain stem and prick and demand attention from both. A torturous cycle akin to being stuffed in the ground alive with a straw poking though the earth. Never satisfied, but still hopeful like a fucking moron.

Baz climbs the stairs to the turret. If his mum was still headmistress, maybe lifts would have been incorporated sometime, or even just escalators. Everyone calls the Mage the ‘Great Reformer’, but Baz puts that on the far end of his list of names for that fuckweed. Far behind prick, narcissistic bitch, and crazy fucking lunatic, which all rank well within the top ten. But Snow would argue that the Mage is really the ‘Great Reformer’ everyone calls him.

Baz’s calf muscles and back disagree heartily.

Even though the basic unsaid rules of their room declared that Snow takes showers in the evening, Baz can’t stand the way his clothes stick to him like they’re a second skin. He thought last year he was finally done growing, but the Grimms are a tall folk, and it seems he’s inherited that (and maybe, like, four other things) from his father. Any walking makes him sweat when it’s this early into the year, and the added bonus of not fitting into custom clothing makes it all the more awful.

So Baz breaks tradition and grabs a towel from his wardrobe. They’re supposed to share one, but Simon decidedly moved his things away from anything resembling Baz about three seconds into this year’s term, and Baz actually doesn’t give a shit. If anything, he’s happy. Now, no lingering scent of Simon can be on his clothes anymore than it usually is.

Sharing a room with the person you want more than actual life makes him hyper-aware of what Snow smells like: brimstone, green fire, and burned foodstuffs. Makes sense.

Despite the building being old, the water pressure is wonderful. Baz maybe thinks someone has spelled it this way because there’s no way a place as old as Watford had this wonderful a plumbing system when it was made. Just as Baz is wondering who may have upgraded this integral part of the school, a loud, obnoxious knock on the bathroom door jolts him from his thoughts.

“We need to talk,” says a muffled voice on the other side of the dark wood door. Simon Snow has never been great at yelling, even in the best of times. Baz accidentally pushed him down the stairs once, and the only noise he made the entire time was a surprised little, “oh” just before he went down.

“I need to get clean,” Baz replies, hoping that will shove off any response for a few minutes.

The knock sounds again, though this time it’s louder. “Now!” Simon yells. He thumps even harder against the door, and Baz sighs as he rests his head against the cool tile of the shower. Never a dull moment when you know the Chosen One, he thinks to himself.

Baz really should be thinking about the structural integrity of a door that was made centuries before him. It’s got a cheap little doorknob from when the other fell out two years into their time at Watford. (Baz blames Simon, but he knows it was himself that did it; slamming a door closed will do that.) The thing hardly locks half the time, and Baz was so tired after a day of classes and scouring the Catacombs that he just didn’t think about locking the door.

So when Simon’s incessant thumping gets harder, the door gives. The knob, thanks to its cheapness, breaks, and the door swings in to reveal Baz, naked, actually in the shower and not plotting, because that’s what Snow always thinks he’s doing.

Baz’s first instinct is to cover himself up. Fling a towel around his lower half and cower in a distant corner until Snow decides that looking at a pale, naked vampire isn’t worth his time anymore. His second instinct is to shout. Because his towel is one the counter outside of the shower, his second instinct will have to do.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he demands, and if there’d been any magic in his voice, Snow would be spilling secrets from his childhood like a broken dam. But Baz doesn’t need magic to make Snow become flustered or spill his secrets. All he needs is a hiss in the back of his throat and a lethal glare.

Snow looks like a deer caught in the headlights of a semi-truck. The most logical thing he can do at this point is close the door, walk out of the room, and not show up for a few hours so Baz can have a bit to think about this. But all Snow does do is stare, and stare, and stare, and stare some more. It’s like he’s trying to bore holes into Baz’s brain with just his eyes.

And then Baz watches those unextraordinary blue eyes creep from his face to where he’s trying desperately to cover up. And damnit, Baz thinks, that shouldn’t be doing the things it’s doing to me. It shouldn’t be setting him on fire all over like he’s not flammable to the largest extent, and it damn sure shouldn’t be making all the blood from the rats rush south like a freight train.

Snow comes to his senses finally (if he’s really got any) and slams the door shut. Baz can feel his face becoming redder. He likes the water hot, but this isn’t a temperature-related heat. This isn’t even the heat of arousal. It’s the heat of shame. Because while Snow was staring down where Baz’s hands are still covering, he was only thinking about one thing: snogging the daylights out of the Mage’s heir.

Shit.

…

The end of fifth year isn’t nearly as exciting as the previous ones: Simon slayed a dragon first year, and the Humdrum’s sent something equally as lethal (if not, more so) every year. However, for the first time in five terms, the last weeks are uneventful. Baz takes his exams in relative silence, though Snow’s tapping feet never stop.

However, if that’s the only upset they’ll have during exams, he can take.

It’s been about six months since Snow walking in on him in the shower, and they haven’t spoken about it. To be fair, they also didn’t speak about whatever it was that had been so pressing in Snow’s mind that day. It just didn’t seem as important as seeing your arch-nemesis stark naked.

Maybe he’d seen the long scar that ran down Baz’s legs. It wasn’t from whatever Snow was thinking it were from. It was years old from when the wraiths had thought it fun to mess with a Pitch. Live and learn, Baz thought. The wraiths hadn’t touched him since then.

Or maybe Snow was really just freaked out about the sight of another man’s prick. If he thought that only he had stones or some stupid shit, anatomy next year was going to fuck him over really well.

Whatever it had been, it’s gone and passed. Baz has shelved it away for the day he’ll finally get a good wank in, which will be only a few days from now. The last days of term always feel the longest, though, and even just remembering that is making his skin itch.

He’s forgotten it long enough, though, to begin packing his wardrobe. It’s not like Baz has a sizeable amount of clothing or anything, but compared to Snow’s, it’s massive. The winter coats alone outnumber all of Snow’s non-school clothing.

Just as Baz begins to take down the few frayed tees he’s ever owned, the door to the room opens. He doesn’t need to look up to know it’s Snow; the clambering of feet up the stairs always tells him enough. Apparently, Snow shares the same sentiment about stairs. Baz looks up to see Snow’s face flushed and his mouth open. (Though that shouldn’t surprise Baz anymore. Snow’s mouth is always open, like an obnoxious trout.)

“Haven’t suggested a lift to your Jedi master, then?” Baz asks, returning his attention to the remaining clothes in the wardrobe. “Or haven’t you mastered Up, up, and away?”

Simon’s glare reverberates through the room, and Baz drops the tie in his hand. The unmistakable scent of Snow’s magic is pouring into the air. Could what Baz just said really set him off that easily? It isn’t even comparable to their normal insults. Nothing this year has been comparable to the previous ones. Baz is too wrapped up in himself lately to really think of any good zingers.

Baz turns sharply from the wardrobe and says, “Calm down, Snow. You don’t want the Anathema killing you for maiming me.” Maybe in some distant world, that could be true.

Snow takes one large step forward and is up in Baz’s space. He’s not close enough to get a good punch in, but Baz knows that Simon doesn’t judge distance very well when it comes to physical altercations. As long as he even scrapes Baz, Snow counts it as a win.

“Stay the fuck away from my girlfriend,” Snow spits at him, hands live like a wire in the air. He always does this when they fight: the spitting of words, the gritting of teeth, and the pointing of hands. However, the actual flames that lick the insides of his eyes give way to let Baz know he’s probably as serious right now as he’s ever been. “I mean it, you fucking creep!”

Baz is just confused. Of course, he won’t let that show. A sly smirk paints its way across his face and he asks, “Trouble in paradise, Snow?”

More magic is exuded. More of the air feels alive with electricity. Snow’s magic has always felt like this: alive, alive, alive. There’s nothing about Simon Snow that isn’t alive. Baz wishes he could be jealous.

“Calm down, Snow,” Baz murmurs, bending over to pick up his tie. It helps to ease the shaking in his hands. Snow could quite literally explode all of Mummer’s right now, and Baz could go up with it. That’s not how he’s supposed to die.

Well, sort of. Simon Snow will do the right thing and kill him once and for all one day, far away from this day, when they stand on opposite sides of the battlefield.

But dying as a fifth year in the top of Mummer’s because Snow’s girl has obviously upset him is not the way Simon is going to kill him.

Snow’s jaw clenches, and he steps back from Baz. Thank Merlin for Anathema, Baz thinks, whoever you were.

Finally, the static in the air calms to the low buzz that always accompanies Snow, and Baz feels like he can breathe again. He can smell a hell of a lot more than most people, and maybe that’s why being around Simon has always made him feel like he’s suffocating. Or maybe it’s because he just wants to pin the Chosen One down on a bed and kiss him ‘til they both die.

That’s what Baz is thinking as Snow loosens his jaw and opens his mouth like the damned trout again. He’s thinking about stepping closer and filling a gaping hole in his chest that aches more and more every passing second. He’s thinking about just coming out with it, no matter the repercussions from his family or the Coven or even Snow himself. He’s thinking about twisting his hands into that perfect golden hair and touching the moles he’s longed to touch since they first met at the Crucible.

But all Baz does is think.

So, instead of pulling Snow in for a maddening and passionate kiss, he turns to his wardrobe and says, “Try not to blow Wellbelove up next time you see her. I still haven’t gotten my fill.”

…

Christmas at Watford is always bittersweet. Baz loves the turkey that’s served the night before the official end of the term, and he’s obsessed with the holly hung up just about everywhere it can be. Miss Possibelf always teaches them little Christmas spells like Merry and bright (obviously for lighting fairy lights) and talks about where the myth of Father Christmas really came from.

But it also makes Baz long for his mother. Sixth year isn’t easy. It’s the year before the technical last year one is required to take. Baz can stop coming after seventh year if he chooses, though he knows he will come back. He’s not going to be the first Pitch to ever drop out of Watford. Plus, Aunt Fiona’s threatened him with a silver cross branding over the heart if he decides to leave.

His mum loved Christmas much more than any other Pitch. She’d set up a big tree in the sitting room and physically place the ornaments on instead of spelling them up like every other magical family. When Baz once asked why, she gave him a look like he’d just asked her why she was breathing. After all, everyone does need to breathe.

So, yeah, the holidays simultaneously suck and rock. Aunt Fiona always brings down the shitty handmade bobbles from when Baz was, like, two and places them on the tree where everyone can see them. His dad mixes up basically all the top shelf alcohol into a cocktail and lets Baz have several glasses. Even Daphne gets in the spirit and throws a mini party with some more liberal members of the Old Families. It’s a good time to be a Grimm-Pitch.

Baz doesn’t entirely pack away his things. He just takes his coats, trousers, socks, and boots. He has more than enough clothing at his house. If he even so much as mentioned a sweater he thought was cool enough to look at for more than two seconds, it would be on his bed by the time he got home. He didn’t want or need anything from his school wardrobe. Just enough to get him to the train and back.

Snow kept the window open, and the breeze blows Baz out of his memories and right back into the chilly air of the room. Simon would keep that damned thing open all the time if Baz didn’t put his foot down. It was like that the first few months of the first year, but after he complained to Fiona about it enough times, she encouraged him to yell at Snow until he submitted to whatever whim was plaguing him.

Now, though… After last year’s revelations and midnight wanks, he can’t so much as snarl at Snow without feeling like he’s an utter arse. Hating Snow used to be as easy as breathing, even though vampires breathe far less often than humans. They do still need to breathe. Snow asked that once in fifth year. What a dunce.

You’ve fallen for a dunce, Baz thinks. A complete fucking dunce.

The cold gets to be too much. Snow isn’t even in the room. He’s probably off with Bunce trying to coerce cook Pritchard into giving him more scones or butter or something. As Baz is about to slam the window down and watch the snow fall from the sill, his eye catches on white blond hair that’s a stark contrast to the dark yew tree behind it.

Wellbelove is an objectively attractive person, and Baz can definitely admit that to anyone asking. She’s standing down against the yew tree, earmuffs protecting what Baz knows are tiny, pale ears that turn the lightest shade of pink when you compliment her. She’s got a light blue coat wrapped around her, and even though the weather definitely doesn’t call for it, she’s wearing a skirt and some tights that tuck away neatly into boots.

That’s another thing about being a vampire: the vision is impeccable.

As impeccable as it is, Baz wants to turn around at the next sight. Snow walks up to Agatha and wraps his arms tightly around her waist before kissing her. It’s so hetero that Baz thinks he might throw up. He would if it was anyone else. Just thinking about people like Dev and Niall actually getting their hands on a woman long enough to kiss her makes Baz’s stomach do summersaults and backflips.

But it’s Snow. His golden hair sticks out in every which way and demands attention in the flapping of the wind. He’s laughing loud enough that it trails up the room where Baz has his hands clenched on the window, nearly splintering it into thousands of pieces. Maybe the Anathema would hurt him for hurting the window. Then he wouldn’t feel so much.

It’s been easy to ignore them. It looked like they’d gone through a rocky patch there, and Baz let himself hope for just one second that it might be over. Of course, even if they were over, there was no way in heaven, hell, or the Veil that Simon Snow would fall in love with the evil gay vampire.

No way.

Baz wants to scream and rage and throw things around the room until his hands go numb and his fangs drop and he can taste blood in his mouth, which hasn’t happened in a long time. He wants to kill Snow and kiss him and throw him to a merwolf and take him so far away from the Humdrum and Watford and everything that’s been hurting him his entire life.

But Baz just slams the window down loud enough for Snow to look up and see Baz glowering down at the pair of them.

Whatever. Baz will just make Agatha love him instead. Shouldn’t be too hard.

…

Watching Snow get yanked out of thin air with Bunce on his arm feels like some weird fever dream Baz has made to cope with every stupid argument they’ve had this year. Even today, Snow came into the room just to get into a petty argument about the window again.

Snow’s just popped around the corner into the Wavering Wood. Baz mentally curses himself. Why does everyone try to follow him when he just wants food? (Blood? Same difference.) First Wellbelove, and then Simon motherfucking Snow and Bunce. Can a man have no privacy?

Of course, the second he realizes Snow’s in the vicinity of him and Wellbelove, Baz takes her hands into his, and it looks like they’re going to kiss. Of course, Baz isn’t going to waste his first kiss on a girl, but if it makes Snow mad, he’ll make that stupid sacrifice.

However, the sucking feeling of the Humdrum creeps into the air just as Snow comes to the clearing. Baz can only describe it as being dry. The air gets tight around him, and he can feel his lungs contracting like a heart that’s finally puttering out. However, his heart is beating what would be considered for normal for a human and erratic for a vampire. Snow asked once if he had any blood in his body. Why the fuck do you think I need it? Baz wanted to ask him back. He scowled instead.

Just as suddenly as Snow and that feeling appears, they both go away. Baz lets go of Wellbelove’s hands and stands in shock and awe. There’s no spell that can make oneself invisible, though one ancestral Grimms did try to use Out, out, damned spot for that. He accidentally discorporated himself to another dimension. Baz says a silent prayer for William Malcolm Grimm before turning to Agatha and basically screaming, “Where the fuck did Snow go?”

If Baz was thinking or was at all competent, he would track Snow using Come out, come out wherever you are, but Baz isn’t thinking. He knows Fiona will have his head on the pyre after she finds out, but Baz agrees with Wellbelove and goes to the Mage with her. They both saw it, and they both need the affirmation that they’re not crazy.

The Mage seems almost uninterested. It’s the last day of term for the eighth years, and he somehow thinks that’s more important than saving his literal heir. While Baz wants to punch the Mage on the best of days for what he’s done to the Old Families, he’d probably dig his fangs into the Great Prick’s neck if Wellbelove wasn’t there.

She’s an absolute wreck. Her best friend and boyfriend just got sucked out of thin air to Crowley knows where, and no one is trying to go find them. At least, no one skilled. The Mage sends his personal army after them, but Baz knows it’s just for show. The Mage’s army couldn’t find an apple on top of a bowl of bananas even if there was a bright neon arrow pointing to it.

So he and Wellbelove wait. Wellbelove is utterly inconsolable, but she does rest her head on Baz’s shoulder after a little bit. If Baz wasn’t so busy actively trying to take down her boyfriend and make him miserable, maybe they’d be friends. She’s a bright girl even with as little magic as she’s got, and she’s quippier than most people in their year. Her only real contender is Bunce, but she’s too busy worrying over Snow to be in any competitions.

Baz eventually gets the news that his family’s arrived for the ceremony. All the Old Families come for the Leaving Ceremony even if they have no one graduating. Baz will be up on that stage in the White Chapel next year, and while he can’t get the image of Snow and Bunce being sucked out of existence before his very eyes, the least he can do is distract himself by watching his predecessors leave.

Fiona is looking around, and it takes only three guesses for Baz to realize she’s trying to find the Chosen One. She’s hexed him at enough of these ceremonies to know he’d be here, and when she asks Baz where he is, all he can do is shrug. It’s not exactly lying; he really doesn’t know where Simon went. Baz looks over and sees the Bunces looking around just like Fiona, although they’re more worried.

It’s their daughter missing, after all. The brightest child they’ll ever put out hasn’t shown up to a ceremony she’s gone to since before she enrolled in Watford. Baz almost feels like he should go over and explain. He knows something, even if it’s not the whole story.

Just as he’s rising to his feet, the doors bang open. The light from outside nearly blinds Baz as he turns to stare at the two figures in the doorway. He already knows Simon is one of them. The brimstone and burning smell are in the air, and his magic is pouring out of him and tearing at the seams. After adjusting to the light, Baz can see Bunce’s bright hair and the glint of her ring.

There’s a moment of silence before chaos erupts. The blood hits Baz’s nose last. Somehow, even he thinks that’s wrong. The blood should have alerted him long before the doors flew open, but here he is, gaping open-mouthed at the two figures in the doorway. Simon is covered in blood from head to toe, and Penny is only cleaner by a fraction. It looks like it’s being sucked out of their pores. It looks like they’re going to die right there on the floor of the White Chapel.

Baz is stuck in place, and he silently thanks whatever Pitch ancestor is keeping him there. It would be even more of a scandal if he ran to his enemies and cried over their corpses. That’s to be done in private.

However, two hours later, a group of magical nurses and doctors have been called, and they all gather in Baz’s room, waiting for Simon to exit the shower.

Baz feels awkward. Should he be pouring tea? Would that be too domestic? He doesn’t have to wait much longer.

Snow steps out of the washroom like a zombie in a low-budget film. Even though it’s obvious by the smell that he’s scrubbed every surface of his body, dried blood flecks are still speckled here and there like the moles already present. If given enough time, Baz could find nearly every one of them. He knows every mole that litters Snow’s body and how large it is and where it’s located.

He’s a man who can’t swim that’s been cast out to sea.

Baz watches as the doctors perform vitals on Snow and check his skin to make sure the bleeding won’t start again by the simple pressure of fingers or clothing. They poke and prod until the Mage enters and watches himself. Then, they’re sent back to whatever corners of the world they crawled out of. Baz is pretty sure one came from New Zealand.

Simon looks like a stress ball squeezed one too many times. His hair has gone flat for once, the telltale buzz in the air that marks his presence is gone, and he doesn’t say anything he doesn’t have to. It’s the first time Baz has seen him not stutter out every other word.

It would be impressive if it wasn’t so fucking scary.

Then the Mage leaves, and it feels awkward between the two of them for the first time in six years. Even the Crucible wasn’t this bad. Simon seems to stare straight past anyone who looks at him. Wellbelove had been in here before Simon showered, just to see if he was alive, but he’d looked through her like she was a window. Baz had never seen Snow look at her like that. Even when he’d first noticed the two, Simon looked at her like she hung the moon, stars, and other planets.

So why does he suddenly straighten when Baz shifts?

In this state, Baz can do anything. He can sacrifice a virgin right in front of Simon, and Baz doesn’t know if Simon would scream or laugh or do nothing at all. He doesn’t know which of the three would be worse.

“What happened?” It’s the only thing Baz can think to ask. Maybe he should be demanding it, or maybe he should be taunting Snow for being sucked away in the first place, but even though he’s toed at some of the most untouchable of subjects, this feels like a new territory.

Simon takes a minute before he slowly turns his head to look at Baz. He looks gaunt. He looks like he does whenever term starts up: his face has gone sallow all over, his cheekbones stick out like he’s been starved, and his eyes sit just far back enough in his skull to be unnerving. Baz hates the beginning of term for that reason.

The smile Simon dawns then cracks his lips, and a small dot of blood bubbles up. Baz doesn’t even have the fiendish sense to want to pop his fangs and kill the Chosen One right there. It’s not like the Anathema would let him, but thoughts have to count for something, right?

“The Humdrum,” Simon murmurs, like that’s supposed to explain what’s happened in the last six hours. Simon says it like he’s praying to it, and that makes a chill run through Baz’s back.

“Can he even do that?” It comes out as a whisper, and Baz wishes he had the bravado to ask again, but the Humdrum makes him have a headache and the urge to throw up all at once. It’s fear in its primal stages, but Baz won’t admit that.

“He can now,” Simon replies, breaking eye contact and looking down at his hands. One thumb and forefinger rub at his wrist, which have both gone boney. “He took something from me today.”

“Fifteen pounds.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but neither Baz nor Simon laugh.

“There’s a new hole in the atmosphere,” Simon adds, like an afterthought. The holes in the atmosphere scare Baz, too. They always seem to open when Simon and the Humdrum meet. It can’t be a coincidence. Nothing with the Chosen One is coincidence.

Baz then crouches down in front of Simon like he’s about to give him a scolding. However, Baz just loosely takes Snow’s hand in his own. The finger bones feel too big in the skin that contains them, but they’re still warm. They still have a pulse in the wrist, and they are still tanned and freckled and have moles scattered across them.

“He won’t win,” Baz says to the floor. It’s cowardly not to meet Simon’s eyes, but it would take much more of Baz than he’s capable of giving right not. “You won’t let him.”

Simon nods, but it’s empty. Whenever something like this happens, Simon seems like he’s just going through the heroic motions. He’s read the fairytales and knows his role well enough to play it with few hiccups.

“I’ll die trying,” Simon whispers. Baz wishes he wouldn’t say that, but they both know how this story ends. The Humdrum will die or disappear or do whatever entities like that do when they’re defeated, but that won’t be the end of Simon’s trials and tribulations. He’ll be hunted by the vampires and the goblins and any other magic-hating creature.

And one day, something will kill him. Baz hopes to Merlin that the Old Families don’t want it to be him. He’d die, too if he had to kill the Chosen One. His last deed would be to kill the man that did Simon Snow in, and his family would never forgive him for it.

The urge to kiss Simon’s forehead takes over Baz’s mind, just to let Snow know that he’s so alive. That people love him and that people will protect him and that there are people who would kill and be killed for him.

And Baz is one of those stupid people.

Baz can’t kiss the Chosen One. Maybe he will, before Simon puts the stake through his heart. Maybe he’ll stop fighting for ten seconds to tell Snow how he’s in love with him, how he’ll always be in love with him, and how nothing Simon could do would change that. And then Simon would stab him or hex him or go off and not protect him, and it would be over.

That night is not tonight.

…

The earthy smell of wet dirt and rotting wood makes Baz gag again. The wood began to rot a week ago. There’s no plush velvet interior like a coffin for a real dead person. This is one of those cartoony coffins Baz would see in reruns of Scooby-Doo when he was young.

Perhaps the Numpties think they’re doing him a favor. Maybe they get all their information on vampires from cartoons. It would explain why he hasn’t been given food or water or been exposed to the sun in the last five weeks. However, he was kidnapped in broad daylight, so…

At first, Baz thought someone would come for him. Maybe the Numpties sent ransom. But after he scratched a sixteenth dash into the wood, he knew he’d die here.

It’s a pretty shitty way to die. No ventilation, surrounded by earthworms to pick the bones left behind, and with Numpties blabbering right on the other side of the wooden coffin. To think, the last thing he’d eaten was a fucking pasty from the country club.

The blood they were giving him tastes like none he’d had before. What if he died with another human’s blood in his system? Whose blood? Someone he knew? A father? A mother? Sister? Son?

After the third day of refusing blood, Baz gives in.

Today, they give him another 32 oz. Styrofoam cup filled with blood, and no food or water. Maybe he should demand it. Would they actually listen to him? Maybe they’d think it was a trap. There’s no way Baz can trap them. He’s too weak to move. The first few days, he had promise, but they hit him over the head with a rock when they gave him the blood, and he woke up hours later in the dark again.

There’s no difference between light or dark here. The only indication Baz has as to the passage of days is the giving of blood. It’s possible they give him blood every other day and it’s really been ten weeks. It feels longer than five weeks, but that could be the fatigue. Vampires can go longer than humans without food or water, and the blood counts for the barely-there amount of water he is getting.

However, they need that holy trifecta to live: food, water, and blood.

Baz has two-thirds.

He’ll die here.

The first time Baz thought that, he let himself cry in the most cramped and crumpled position possible. (Coffins are decidedly not spacious.) The second time he thought about his death, he laughed and laughed and laughed until a Numpty came in with a rock and gave him a good thump behind the ear.

The third time was now. Day thirty-seven (by best estimates). No one is coming for him.

Baz doesn’t cry or laugh. He just sighs through his nose and takes a sip of blood. If he doesn’t drink it fast, it gets congealed at the bottom, and even though he’s going to die in a Numpty den in a coffin in the ground, he won’t die on an empty circulatory system.

His stomach will just have to deal.

The darkness used to play with eyes. Now it just dances like the elephants in Dumbo until Baz gets bored. Then it settles back to darkness. Sometimes the Numpties go away to talk, and the silence talks to Baz until they get back.

Surprisingly, the silence sounds like an angry David Tennant. Maybe that’s just how every angry Scottish person sounds, but silence might be inherently Scottish.

But when the Numpties eventually come back, Baz breathes more deeply and closes his eyes. And he sees it.

The bronze curls always come to him first. Then the unextraordinary blue eyes take formation, and the moles follow. Baz allows himself to focus on that mole just beneath the left side of the jaw. The smile comes last. It’s a smile Baz has saved in his memories by countless times witnessing it from countless angles. The mole to the right of that mouth makes Baz’s eyes water.

Those eyes shine down at him. For some reason, he’s taller in Baz’s memories than in real life. Maybe he’s grown since seventh year. Probably not, though. Neither of them have grown much since sixth year. They both just filled out in the shoulders and got squared away in the face. No more pockmarks.

Baz can hear the laugh that emits from that mouth. It’s a sound he knows the angels crafted for ears of the damned to hear. Maybe they thought the damned would think twice about falling if they heard that laugh. It was made to be the first glorious sound deaf people here and for blind people to try to put a face to. It was made for people like Baz, whose souls were up in the air and just needed to be caught and nurtured.

Those lips were made to be chapped in the cold wind but warm to the touch. The moles and freckles were made to be dreamed of and painted. Those eyes…those unextraordinary but beautiful eyes were made to make women swoon. They certainly made Baz swoon.

His last thoughts would be of Simon Snow’s lips and moles and eyes. Baz knew this is how it would end. With one of them in tears, professing love, and the other driving a blade into a damned heart.

However, the one that’s supposed to end him is probably having tea right about now at Watford. Hundreds of miles away. Not knowing that the one he has to kill is being killed by someone else.

Simon Snow is alive, Baz thinks.

And I’m hopelessly in love with him.

…

“What do we do now?” Penny asks. Simon looks up from the ground. The dead birds are starting to get to Baz. There’s blood everywhere: spilling from the Mage’s ears, drying around Ebb’s corpse, and from the birds that were near enough to Simon’s explosion.

Baz can’t help it. He hasn’t fed since two days ago in the woods right before a hole opened above his house. He goes to a corner and feeds on a few birds. Penny and Simon should be reprimanding him for doing that, but they’re all so drained that they don’t stop him.

Eventually, Simon tears his suit jacket off and lays it over the Mage’s body. Even though Snow technically killed him, Baz knows this will tear him up inside. He’s probably the only one that ever loved the Mage properly. Some loved the man for his power, and others for his influence, but Simon loved him because that’s all he could do.

Baz lays down on the ground away from the bodies and tries to go to sleep. It’s not hard. The last few hours have been more draining than a marathon. In a way, it was a marathon to save Simon Snow.

A scream interrupts Baz’s nice dream about a hill far away where the sun shines down on the grass and birds are singing in the trees. Simon’s there, too, laying beside him and resting in the shade. It’s the best dream Baz has ever had.

It’s Bunce’s mum that screams. Baz thinks that maybe having two dead bodies surrounding three (nearly) alive kids could probably give someone the wrong impression, and he rises to see Bunce hugging her mum and Simon hugging himself. Those stupid wings are still spread out, and his cartoonish tail even whips around on the ground.

Eventually, they leave the White Chapel and go to Mummer’s. The Mage’s army has been summoned, and the Coven and Old Families also arrive. Baz almost flinches when Snow’s hand grabs ahold of his and Bunce takes the other. If anything, he’s at least gained two friends from this miserable experience.

They wait in the bedroom in the turret for what seems like hours. About five different people of five different ranks from five different groups ask them what happened, and they tell the same story separately five times. However, Simon always comes back to Baz’s bed and grabs ahold of his hand again. It’s a good balance because Baz is shivering, and Snow is a personal furnace.

Finally, they all leave, and Bunce leaves with her mum. No one comes to get Snow, and Baz refuses to leave until tomorrow unless Snow wants to come with. He doesn’t, so Baz doesn’t go. It feels wrong to leave him in this place when there’s nowhere else to go. Bunce’s mum wasn’t in the right place of mind when she left, so Baz is sure that’s why she forgot to ask Simon with them. Baz isn’t sure Simon would’ve gone anyway. Why does it feel so appropriate to be in this room of all places on Earth?

“What do we do now?” Baz echoes Penny from hours before. It had been a good question at the time. Two dead bodies, a missing Wellbelove, and no cellphones to call anyone on. This was similar to that. No one left to tell them what to say or do. No one peering in from the outside to get the scoop. No one trying to get evidence to blame either side for the deaths.

They’d track Wellbelove down soon enough and get her side. Then everything would be clear.

Simon rests his head against Baz’s shoulder. Baz rests his head against the tuft of curls that tickle his neck. They’re still holding hands. It’s not awkward. It should be.

A lot of things should be awkward right now. Snow spent Christmas with Baz. They had (still kinda do have) an alliance. They know the Mage succeeded in having Natasha Grimm-Pitch killed all those years ago. Inadvertently, he also caused Baz to be Turned into a vampire.

So many new pieces of trivia. So much to sort through. So much to strike and add to the Record. So much that they should want to forget.

But Baz just keeps holding onto Simon’s hand and brushing his face against those bronze curls. It’s a good dream come true that he’s allowed to do this, but Baz doesn’t have the mental capacity at the moment to think about how his fifth year-self is hooping and hollering inside of his heart. He’s too tired to want more than is being given.

Baz would be content if this is all Simon Snow ever gave him.

A few months later, Baz stands at a punch bowl while the people he’s known for eight years dance and cry behind him. The punch isn’t even spiked. They’re all still too wrung-out from trying to understand what happened in the White Chapel that night. Dev and Niall wanted to know why Baz hadn’t killed or at least seriously maimed Simon that night.

How does one explain homosexuality for the arch nemesis to two duds like Dev and Niall?

Simon doesn’t know, though, so neither should Dev and Niall. Or maybe he does, and he just won’t say so. It would make sense. Baz has been trying to kill Simon since they were eleven, so the revelation of love would either shock him or make him laugh so hard he would piss himself.

Simon didn’t come back, and neither did Bunce, but after Bunce’s mum became Headmistress, she let all of them have cellphones on campus, and Baz had stayed in near-constant contact with the two of them. He tried to reach out to Wellbelove, but she explained she just wanted to run from it all.

If that was an option for Baz, he would still be running.

But there’s a Leavers Ball and ceremony to attend to, and if the Chosen One and his insanely smart friend aren’t going to show, he kinda has to. It’s an unwritten contract that at least one of them has to show up to these kinds of things, even if it’s just to let people know all three of them are alive.

Simon hasn’t gotten in touch tonight, and Baz thinks about texting him just to make sure he’s still kicking it. However, Simon might be sleeping. These Leavers Balls take place at night, and even though it’s only nine, Baz would like to be in bed, too, preferably with the Chosen One tucked against his side.

Baz scans the room for anyone worth talking to. It’s strange how his best friends have alternated from Dev and Niall (Niall being his literal cousin) to Penny and Snow. (Baz has decided Penny’s name is worth saying every once in a while.) It just goes to show…something. Baz’s brain is spent from exams and that speech he gave a few hours ago.

His eyes lock on a figure entering the small procession that is the Leavers Ball. No one at Watford is late, so who would be walking in nearly an hour after the Ball’s started?

The boy who’s loved making entrances since he was born, apparently. The Golden Boy, the former Mage’s heir, the Chosen One, Simon Snow makes his way over to where Baz is standing. It’s like a reverse of what happened halfway through the first term this year.

Baz stands so still a stray tumbleweed could blow him over, even though Miss Possibelf spelled the tumbleweeds away hours ago.

Simon runs a hand through his hair, a little nervous trait Baz has picked up on these last few months. Simon has a few of them, the newest being tugging on his little devil’s tail, though that changed after he got it surgically removed a few weeks ago. The wings were gone sooner because Simon kept knocking people and things over, and Penny and Baz both breathed a sigh of relief when Simon could walk through a hallway without knocking over a vase or painting.

Someone’s given him a proper suit, and he looks like a cardboard cutout model with a few extra moles here and there.

Baz feels a genuine smile (not a smirk) tugging at his lips. To see Simon Snow in a proper suit with his hair somewhat tamed feels like seeing a unicorn, though he’s been told that a couple hundred live in a sanctuary in Switzerland.

“Didn’t think I’d be here so soon after…” Simon leaves it open-ended. Baz doesn’t need the end of that sentence. He didn’t personally know if he’d come back after that Christmas break, but Fiona’s threats about the cross still ran around his brain all these years later, and he didn’t want to disappoint his mum. She valued education more than the person who created it.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Baz replied, setting his little glass of punch back down and adding, “Party was dull without you, Snow.” Simon grins over at him and bites at his bottom lip. It’s something cheeky Baz has only ever seen him do around Wellbelove, but she’s been well and truly gone for a long time now.

“I guess the last few months were pretty dull, then?” Simon asks. Baz smiles and nods. It was nice not being threatened with dragons and flying monkeys every couple of weeks, but not having Snow even as a presence was unsettling, and after Bunce left, there was no real competition anymore.

“Ah, Snow, you were gone but not forgotten,” Baz replies, walking away from the table and closer to Snow. It’s the closest they’ve been since right after whatever happened in the White Chapel. Even then, it’s not very close. Baz is about a foot and a half away from Snow.

Simon’s only a little bit shorter than him (give or take three inches), but he seems so much older than he was a few months ago. He’s by no means a man. In Baz’s eyes, maybe Snow will always be a boy (the boy), but there’s no denying that something has fundamentally changed about the way Snow carries himself.

Maybe it’s the shared trauma.

“Have you danced?” Snow asks. It’s an odd question, but Baz really doesn’t think anything can be that odd between them anymore. They nearly died together on multiple occasions last December, and it’s foolish to believe they could ever be what they were before. They’re not enemies, and they share a side now, though it’s not either side they were on before. It’s all their own, now.

“No one to dance with, Simon,” Baz says, and the exasperation is overshadowed by the stirrings of those fifth-year feelings. All the songs they play at the Leavers Ball tonight are slow and meant for couples and sentimental friends. It’s meant to be a celebration, but there’s nothing to celebrate this year except maybe that Headmistress Bunce has brought back end of year books filled with photos. (Even though Simon, Penny, and Agatha left, they were still featured throughout the book.)

“Any girl here would have danced with you if you asked,” Simon mutters, and he shoves his hands in his pockets. Baz quietly thinks to himself that suit pockets are not meant for hands or anything, really, but Simon makes pouting look good when he’s dressed up.

“Come on, Snow, you know I’m not looking for a girl to dance with,” Baz replies, toeing at the ground with his expensive dress shoes. Fiona presented them to him a few days before, and even though Baz tried to insist he had enough dress shoes for a thousand different balls, she won.

Simon huffs, and a loose piece of hair falls into his eyes. He hasn’t cut it in a while. “I’m sure more than a few blokes would dance with you, too.”

Baz rolls his eyes and feels a blush creeping onto his cheeks. He’s had enough blood tonight for more than a few types of blushes. “I’m not looking for more than a few blokes.”

“What are you looking for?”

The way Simon poses that question makes Baz want to reach out and snog him in front of everyone watching. Everyone already is watching. Baz is surprised, but he shouldn’t be. Even though he and Bunce know about this weird friendship that’s blossomed, it doesn’t mean everyone else was clued in. Baz didn’t want anyone else clued in.

Baz looks up from where he is tracing the line of grout between the tiles, and he feels like he’s fifteen again, just trying to simultaneously please and displease Simon. He feels like they’re back in that blazing forest again where Simon talked him down from a suicidal rampage and walked him back to the car. He feels like the flames that existed in Simon’s eyes until his magic left have now planted themselves right at the base of his spine and are tickling his back.

Simon’s got his mouth quirked to the side, and a little dimple appears there. He’s still got his hands shoved in his pockets, but he seems more tense than before, like he’s holding something back. In these last few months of three-way Skype sessions and phone calls and group chats, it’s never felt like Simon’s tried to hold back. The three of them have something not a lot people can say they do: shared trauma.

And Simon and Baz have more. They have the forest fire and the Humdrum setting Baz off like a killing machine. They have years of sitting in that room at the top of the turret and bickering over a window and bathroom schedules and posh soaps. They have a rivalry that’s morphed into this friendship that still feels like it’s morphing even as the silence stretches between them.

“I want you to dance with me tonight.” It’s simple. It isn’t a confession of anything, but Simon smiles anyway. He outstretches a freckled hand, and Baz takes it. Now all those who were staring are gaping openly, but the song that plays is nice, and Baz has heard it before.

It’s a slow rhythm meant for only two people to hear together. It’s meant for them, even if it really isn’t.

Simon’s not the nervous wreck he once was. Baz once watched him at a special ball the school held for a blood moon, and the stiff way he danced with Wellbelove made Baz spit out his punch and laugh. Now, though, he’s the one that’s stiff. His dark blue suit feels too heavy and hot now that Snow is within inches of him. It’s the closest they’ve ever been, including after the mess in the White Chapel.

It’s closer than two platonic blokes get. It’s closer than a lot of romantic blokes get.

Snow must have been taught to dance before tonight and after than disastrous ball so many years ago. Baz thinks about him practicing with Wellbelove, and a small flame of jealousy glows in his mind. Then he remembers Wellbelove is in America, and the glow subsides to a flicker.

Maybe Simon just doesn’t realize how close they’ve gotten. Maybe he’s about to trample on Baz’s toes and knock his forehead into Baz’s chin. Maybe he thinks two blokes can dance like this and just be friends.

If this is all Baz ever gets from Simon, he can die happy and sated. He feels fuller than after he’s drained a deer. He feels like his feet aren’t nearly as heavy as they have been the past few hours. Simon’s got his arm behind Baz’s back, and Baz can feel the muscle of Simon’s shoulder through the suit jacket. Baz’s hand, eternally cold, feels comfortably toasty in Simon’s.

It’s a strange feeling to be dancing with Simon Snow at a Leavers Ball. Baz never thought he’d make it this far. He knew he’d go to the Leavers Ball, but he thought he’d spend the entire night at the punch bowl, shooting glares at Wellbelove and Simon and nearly crushing glasses in his fist. Maybe people would assume he was mad about Agathe making up her mind once and for all about the good guy, and maybe some astute pixie would feel the jealousy and properly place it.

Baz never thought he’d share a dance with Simon Snow at their Leavers Ball.

He never thought they’d both make it this far. He never thought there’d be a time when they could look each other in the eye, let alone be dancing at a Leavers Ball together instead of at each other’s throats the entire night.

It would be easier if they were at each other’s throats. They’ve been there so many times that they could do the motions in their sleep. Baz is quite sure Simon already has. He’s slept close enough to the Golden Boy for the last seven and a half years to know they’re both plagued by nightmares that are too scary to mention in the morning.

This feels like one of those dreams that Baz wouldn’t let himself think of. If he dwelled on the good dreams he had of Simon, he’d never stop. There are so many he can’t remember because he’s forced them out of his brain, but they come back now.

There’s the one about sleeping under the sun for hours with Simon next to him, and the sun doesn’t burn them and ants don’t bother them. It’s free of bugs and sunburns and evil. That’s one of Baz’s favorites. There’s another where he’s just woken up and can feel Simon breath against the back of his neck, and he doesn’t need to look to know it’s him. And the one where they’re just kissing for hours on Baz’s bed, not moving or noticing the world crumbling away around them.

But this is so much realer than all of those dreams combined. The hand grasping Baz’s is real and warm and calloused from calling and holding a heavy sword for years. The occasional brush of dress shoes on the floor sends vibrations through Baz’s legs, and they threaten to buckle right underneath him. He knows now that Simon would catch him. No matter what, Simon has always caught him.

“Why are you here?” Baz asks. It’s been bothering him. Without needing to say it, Simon basically swore off ever returning to Watford after December, and Baz understood. He swore off that nursery before he knew what swearing things off really meant. Baz wasn’t even irritated when neither Penny nor Simon showed up to hear his speech. People would record it, and he’d get a copy and show them if they really wanted to see it.

Baz would swear Watford off, too if it had broken as many promises as it had with Simon. Watford promised to keep him safe. Watford promised to always be a home for him. Watford promised so many things that couldn’t have ever been promised.

Life hasn’t kept its promises to Simon Snow.

Baz will. He’s broken the necessary ones, like the ones about killing him and smiting everything Simon loves. Coincidentally, a lot of the things he loves are now things Baz does, too. He likes Penny a lot, and sour cherry scones aren’t bad. Baz will never wrap his head around Simon’s fascination with butter, but it’s probably rooted in not being fed properly for eleven years and then suddenly getting as much food as one could want.

Baz has promised himself to Simon Snow, in whatever way the Chosen One will have him. Baz supposed now he’ll have to stop calling him that, but now is not that time for large shifts in character. There’s been too much of that as of late.

Simon shrugs and looks down at the floor. “I guess…I didn’t want to think about you alone here.”

“I’m not alone,” Baz rationalizes, looking around. “There’re loads of people here. The teachers, for one, and people we’ve grown up with, and…” He wants to go on, but that obviously isn’t what Simon was getting at. Simon’s been seeing a magical therapist (one of three in the world), and while they’re working on Simon voicing his opinion, it’s not always easy.

“Why are you here, Simon?” Baz asks again, this time with a tenderness in his voice Baz hasn’t used since Mordelia was a baby, back before she was a terror. “It’s fine to not want to be here, you know, I wouldn’t have ever made you come back.”

Simon huffs out a laugh and looks up just as the song’s changing. The fairy lights catch the curls in his hair in brilliant flashes of light. If Baz was more of a dreamer and less of a realist, he’d call Simon Snow an angel or the closest thing to it.

Simon smiles and says, “I know you wouldn’t.” The hold on Baz’s hand gets stronger, and the arm across his back bring him closer to Simon. “I love it when you call me Simon,” he adds, finally looking around the room and seeing everyone staring.

“They’re all looking at you,” he mutters, his face suddenly aflame in a blush Baz will remember until his dying breath.

“They’re looking at two blokes dancing,” Baz replies, deciding to tighten his hold on Simon as well. “Two blokes dancing who they used to have to split up before a fight broke out.”

Simon does let out a genuine laugh at that, even if it is small. It’s a start. Baz loves to see him smile like this. The tension eases out of Simon’s back, and his arm doesn’t feel like a steel rod against Baz’s back. It just feels like the reassuring touch you’d give to someone who desperately needs it. Does Baz desperately need it? He desperately needs something from Simon Snow.

“All that fighting,” Simon practically whispers, “and we ended up on the same side after it all.” Baz guesses that Simon can’t believe it either. Who would?

“I was always on your side,” Baz says. It’s true. Even though they fought enough for five different arch enemies, Baz was never completely on the side of the Old Families. He was also never completely on the side of the Coven. He was on a side made for him and Simon and whoever else he deemed worthy. (Penelope Bunce was more than worthy. She actually probably made the side herself, and Baz just climbed on board before he knew it truly existed.)

Simon looks at Baz, truly, truly looks at him then. It’s the kind of look someone gives another person when they want to see if there’s a hidden intention or just true sincerity. Baz feels like he’s laid himself out time and again these past months. He’d go through it all again a million times if it got him here. He’d fight two-hundred chimeras and one-thousand dragons to be here.

Simon’s the one that gets to decide what happens next. Baz has always been deciding what’s gone on between them. He’s chosen where they go and who they talk to and what they bicker about. It’s Simon’s turn. The ball is in his court. In a way, it’s always been, and Baz has just been playing with that stupid, red ball Simon carried all first year.

Baz, honest-to-Merlin, doesn’t expect Simon to drop his hand and cup it around the side of Baz’s neck, just above two pin-prick sized holes that drained him of life all those years ago. He doesn’t expect Simon Snow to lean in and smile like he’s going to tell a secret, and then kiss him.

It’s just a kiss. It’s small. It’s Baz’s first. It’s not Simon’s. Simon’s lips are chapped (like always), and his hand is calloused and tickles Baz but not enough to make him giggle. Baz doesn’t expect the kiss, so his feet move for a millisecond longer than Simon’s, and he nearly falls over. Simon leans back and lets out a single huff of laughter. His smile is genuine, and he just picks up Baz’s hand like it’s nothing.

Baz will fall asleep that night with Simon pressed against his back in a pair of Baz’s silk pajamas. It’s a déjà vu that’s so much better than the dream. Baz will dream of that sunny hill where bugs don’t exist and birds chirp happy songs. Baz will wake up tomorrow and leave the grounds of Watford the last time for a very long time.

But right now, they sway back and forth to a tune unfamiliar to both of them, and the world looks on at the Chosen One and his former enemy.

Keris hands Trixie five pounds.

#snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #carry on #rainbow rowell #Penelope bunce #penny bunce #Agatha wellbelove #the mage #what an ass #natasha grimm pitch #Fiona pitch #fluff #5 plus 1 #five plus one #SnowBaz fluff

87 notes · View notes

hobiwonder · 6 years

Text

~Showering with ‘love’~ | (m)

genre: smut. pwp. fetish basically. crack??

pairing: jimin x reader

words: 3k+

warnings: blowjob, boob fondling. unprotected sex and other mentions of it. dirty talk. PEEING lmao idfk.

summary: Jimin has weird fetishes and oh; he also drank the recommended amount of water an adult should.

a/n: this is for my freak of a friend @parkmuse and her pEE fetish that i low-key maybe also have web kjerfudjnfbehdknws i know i said this type of stuff be a hard no from me but tbh i’d let all of bts pee on me. i hope you like this bri!!! it probably wasn’t as good or as dirty as u would have liked but i will try and write nastier stuff for my partner in crime who i send all my dirty fantasies to lol kjfdbcuirfckw.n. I hope u like this ily!!!!! -end sappy moment-

“Holy shit.” The heavy thump of your boyfriend taking a seat on the couch behind you is hardly a new occurrence for you to look back and ask if he’s okay. You were sitting on the floor near the couch, legs criss-crossed while you cut out the letters you had printed out for the poster that you were making for your charity dog wash. There was paper scattered everywhere on the coffee table and you really needed help with cutting out so many different letters and shapes and needed to make it interesting enough to catch the attention of the tens of kids who were usually out with their parents and dogs in the dog park near your flat.

But of course, Jimin had decided to go to the studio and practice with Hoseok and Jungkook for the charity event that you were holding.

“What now?” eyes never wavering while you tried to pristinely cut along the bold lines and not horribly mess up. You weren’t the best at with scissors let’s just say that. Jimin is still heaving behind you, probably doused in sweat and looking very much the walking temptation he is but you really needed to focus. The charity event was this weekend and you had so many more posters to make. And they all had to be handmade as well because it just seemed more authentic to you. Plus, that way people can hopefully tell how much this event meant to you and your boss will have to listen to you and expand the little family owned carwash in to a doggy wash too! Just the thought of working with the little puppers that lived in your neighbourhood had you cooing internally.

“Hoseok hyung is taking thisway too seriously. He made us practice the same move for over 2 hours babe. Two hours!” You know he’s throwing his hands in the air from exasperation without having to look behind you. Hoseok really was a perfectionist and that’s saying something after dating Jimin for almost two years and seeing how meticulous he was with his performances.

“I drank so much water and now I have to go pee but I’m so,” he lets out a loud, exaggerated groan – probably wanting your attention – “so, tired. Babe, look at me.” His cute little whine is what comes next.

Yup, you called it. You knew your boyfriend to the T. And also, you were glad he was drinking actual water for once and not alcohol or a fizzy drink. You put down the little funky ‘G’ you had cut out and finally look back at your pouting and – ugh, slightly stinky – boyfriend.

“I am looking. And smelling,” you’re scrunching your nose at him while you sniff towards his direction and he only kisses the air towards you, shooting you a wink. “Go take a shower you stinky poo.”

“Seriously? Stinky poo? I’m fucking roasted.” He’s shaking his head in mock defeat and you only just roll your eyes at him. You really needed to get this done.

“Well if you’re done roasting then please go shower and come help me with this.” And he’s whining again. What did this boy want?

“Jimin,” you call out his name in a warning while picking up the other shape to get some headway with this poster and maybe scare your cute boyfriend in to getting his supple butt in the shower quickly so he could help.

“Fine.” He drags out the word to probably buy more time and keep laying on the couch but another stern look from you has him scampering up from the couch. “I have to pee anyway. Ugh, I think I’m made of 90% water at this point.”

“Good. Your Sahara desert body probably needs it.” You can hear Jimin scoff from the bedroom while he yells out to you.

“Excuse you but I am always hydrated!”

“Drinking flavoured water doesn’t count!” You yell right back. “It’s practically a fizzy drink.”

“No it’s not!”

“Jimin just shower. Gosh.” You mutter under your breath but can’t help and laugh that he still insists on fighting with you about this topic.

It’s only been about 20 minutes until you hear the shower turn off and out comes Jimin and you could cry from happiness. Finally that turd can help you.

“What took you so long?” You’re gritting out from between your teeth without looking behind you – again. But this time, instead of hearing Jimin answer you, he opts for pressing himself against your back as he settles his legs on either side of you on the floor. You can feel his body heat and tell that he’s shirtless. The cool droplets of water that still clung to his hair fell on to your thin shirt when he nestles his head in the crevice between your neck ended and your shoulder blades started – pressing sweet, cool kisses with his plump lips.

“Jimin,” the word is said in a breath while you try to keep them even, feeling his kisses get wetter and wetter as he drags his lips up and down the length of your throat, threading his hands in your hair to tilt it back as he hums back in response.

“J-Jiminie- I n-need help with… with this.” He seems to be in no rush and neither does your body because it’s melting back in to his own.

“Or you need a break.” His words reverberate against your throat as his hands now decide to slither down towards your breasts, kneading them through your thin blouse. His legs have completely trapped you between them as they surround you – you can barely comprehend anything as it is because the only thing you can count on is you soiling your underwear prematurely and you would rather do that on Jimin’s cock.

But of course he had to always do things his way. It was a good thing you were adventurous too – just enough.

“J-Jimin…. Stop teasing. D-Do it already if you’re going to.” Your voice is breathy and you don’t sound nearly as assertive as you’d hoped to. All your demand does is make his chuckle while he unbuttons your shirt, vascular arms resting just beneath your heaving breasts and you just watch in amazement as he takes his time unbuttoning ever button with care. Opposite to how he usually is – taking off both of your clothes in a haste.

“How about you get me ready, hm?” the words press in close to your ear, his warm breath fanning across your lobe and making you shiver almost violently, “would you do that for me princess?”

There it was. Your weakness: the ‘princess’ card. You would jump off the empire state building if he asked you anything in this tone and the said word attached – damn it!

Jimin is pressing open-mouthed, wet kisses across your collar bone while his hands unclip your bra from behind – baring you completely from the top half of your body. His hands now gently massaging the heavy mounds in his stubby fingers which turn in to deliciously sharp pinches of your hardened nipples between his thumb and index finger.

“O-Oh fuck. Jimin I-I’m going to c-cum like this if you don’t stop.” You positively sound like you’ve run a marathon which is the farthest thing from your mind – even if you do run marathons. Plus, Jimin was definitely more of a work out than running 10k.

“Then get to work.” You yelp as slaps you between the legs – the thump landing squarely in your clit even through the fabric and you swear you almost creamed your panties.

Finally, Jimin is sitting back so you can turn around and work him out of his sweats. You thank the lord above for sweatpants because that just means one less item of clothing you have to take off since Jimin obviously went commando under it. Judging from the curved shape of his length that continued to grow as you salivated for it in midst of taking them off. Jimin is just sitting back – arms and legs splayed as he watches you fumble off his sweatpants – almost looking at you like a Sultan ready to be serviced. The shit-eating grin on his face usually has you telling him off but you two hadn’t had sex in a week and that was a long while. At least for the two of you and especially Jimin who had a particularly large sex drive and sometimes sliding his cock in to you twice in a day whether it meant riding him or a morning quickie. So it wasn’t exactly your fault that you were eager. Who know – what with your busy schedules when you two would have time to screw each other’s brains out again.

“Wait, baby – let me sit on the couch.” Jimin sits up on the seat when you just stare at his lap wondering how you were going to suck him off as he sat on the floor with you. Thankfully, him being slightly more elevated means you can suck your boyfriend’s dick without anymore mishaps.

He’s opening his legs wide again – completely naked while you sit with your shorts still on while your breasts swing free. Perspiration lacing your body while Jimin still looked refreshed with his wet hair partially dried now. He’s grabbing his length enticingly – looking you straight in the eyes while his hand goes to his fully hardened cock – smearing the top half of the length with his creamy fluid – aiming it right at you.

“Come closer, princess. Have a taste.” His voice is a tantalising whisper towards the end and you’re almost drooling looking at his veiny member throbbing in his hands. Hurriedly – it’s as if you can’t bear to waste any more time just admiring Jimin with his cock in his hand while he looks at you expectantly, biting his lip cherry red. You lick your lips before slowly sliding his cock in your mouth, working the tips inside as you suck it gently with your lips tightly covering it like a seal.

“Fuck.” Jimin’s whisper is so close and throaty and it’s the sexiest thing you’ve heard and will hear probably. His hands have slid in your hair as he holds it to guide your mouth on his length – your head bobbing up and down as you slide more of its girth inside your mouth. Your mouth is quickly running out of space and you are already gagging obscenely on his cock. Good thing – that’s just the way Jimin liked it; messy.

“Fuck yeah. Good girl. Suck me harder baby.” His mouth has lost its filter and it’s only making you wetter. You realise you are most likely to come just like this after being on edge for so long – your panties sticking to your core – contoured perfectly to the shape of your pussy. Jimin’s hand is firm and his head is thrown back in pleasure – only breathy groans escaping.

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck! You’re such a good cocksucker baby. S-So good.” He’s looking own at you again while your eyes peer right back. Your hands twist around the length that you weren’t able to fit in and saliva is dripping around your mouth while you moan around him. You’re sure the delicious vibrations are sending him even closer to the edge. You needed for him to finish so he could help you out otherwise yhou were going to faint from withdrawals.

“Fuck princess. I’m about to c-cum. Fuck wait!” You don’t stop – thinking it’s just him trying to stop you from making him cum. Instead your suck harder – lips stretched to almost painful width.

“y/n baby, stop. I-I think I’m going to pee in your mouth if you don’t!” And you’re off his length with a pornographic ‘pop’ as you catch in much needed air. You sit there on your knees while Jimin also catches his breath – looking slightly dishevelled and a bit confused. Or pained? Which one was it?

“W-What? Go to the bathroom then you nut!” Jimin is stroking his length once more and you just give him another incredulous look as if to ask ‘what are you doing.’

“I don’t know! I-It feels good but it feels like I’m going to pee ugh. Fuck my life.” His head is thrown back against the couch as he continues to tug and pull at his painfully hard cock – the wet sounds only making you hornier. And then you think; how bad could this be?

“You said you drank… a lot of water today right?”

“Yeah.” Jimin moans back his answer – squeezing the mushroom head of his cock and you’re mesmerised. Watching him jack off was a personal favourite. He looked like an Adonis with his abs clenching every single time he breathed out.

“So your pee can’t be that bad.. right?” Jimin’s head is shooting up so fast you almost flinch back at his eagerness.

“Yes.” His reply is firm and quick. Jimin has had this kink for a while but your worries about his diet and how unsanitary it would be to try had always kept you a bit wary of this but today he did drink a lot of water. Maybe you could… give it a try?

You sit up straight on your knees, placing both of your hands on his own knees with a determined look in your eyes. You were somehow incredibly turned while you watched the wheels turn in his head.

“Go ahead Jiminie… can’t believe I’m saying this but; you can pee on me.” His eyes are almost popping out of their sockets as he stares back – sinking further in to the couch as his legs spread further.

“A-Are you sure, y/n? you’re not grossed out? F-Fuck.” He’s moaning under his breath again and you point out with a groan of your own as you continue to eye his impressive length.

“Only because you’ve drunk a shitton of water and your pee won’t stink.” Your glare only lasts for a few seconds and you’re back to trying to be seductive - even just a smidge.

“O-Okay. Fuck this is so hot.” He’s sitting up slightly more as his gaze zeroes in on your breasts.

“Play with y-your tits baby. Fuck. That’s it. Pinch your nipples princess.” Your own head is now thrown back as you complete his requests – pinching your already tender nipples even more as each tug sends a wave of arousal out of you – making a mess of your panties.

“F-Fuck! Here it c-comes fuck fuck fuck-” from then on it’s an incoherent mess of curses and the name of Jesus being thrown around like he was praying. The first hot stream is right underneath your collarbone. Thankfully – it’s white and no unpleasant odour exists and you can’t help but moan when the next stream hits right on your nipple. Your eyes open and what you see has you moaning aloud. Jimin is jerking off his length almost violently fast as spurts of his urine land on your nipples – just like he’s aiming.

Each warm stream is almost stimulating your nipples with the sheer velocity of his aim. And just like that – a more thicker substance is now coating your breasts and you know Jimin has just cum.

“Fuck I’m cumming baby. I’m going to dirty up your tits even more.” He’s hissing between his teeth as he continues to milk is erection off his creamy substance while you rub the mixture of his urine with his pearly white cum in your breasts.

“Give me a-all of it Jiminie. I want your cum.” You can’t even tell anymore what’s pee and what’s his cum as he keeps dribbling on you and you keep on massaging your breasts – positively slick with his pee and his cum. The glide of you hand on your breasts is so smooth you never want to stop caressing them

Jimin is spent as he falls back on to the couch – his cock slightly flaccid in his lap but hardening soon after he catches his breath and watches you lost in your own world as you continue to rub your nipples. Pull, pinch and press on to them.

“Clean me up baby.” You swollen lips have encased his length with no hesitancy as you lap up his cum from the tip – knowing very well there could be traces left of urine as well. This was strangely hot to you too.

Maybe Jimin finally broke your gross fetish radar.

“J-Jimin.” You cry aloud when the ache in your pussy is ready to have you combusting on the spot.

“I’ll take care of you baby. Come up here princess.” His cooing has you climbing up in his lap as fast you can after taking off your jeans. As soon as you’re straddling his naked thighs, Jimin’s lips are descending down to your urine/cum coated nipples and lapping at them like he’s expecting milk to come out.

“Jimin.” The soft sigh has him finally positioning his length underneath you and all you want to do is scream in happiness when you finally slide down his cock – labia stretching around his thick intrusion.

“Can’t believe you let me do that baby. That was so hot I love you so much.” He’s mumbling the words around a mouthful of tit and you’re trying your hardest to not cry from the overwhelming pleasure and relief.

“O-Only b-because you d-drank so much water. Ungh J-Jimin!” He’s begun thrusting up in to you from beneath – his balls slapping obscenely against your ass as he holds it between his hands. You were surely going to find prints on it tomorrow because it seems like this s just the beginning.

Jimin makes you cum three times that day and by the time he’s don with you – it’s nightfall and no work is done on the cut-outs for the doggy wash because you’re so tired afterwards that you don’t have the energy to get up and finish or ask Jimin to while you both pant – trying to catch your breath after he takes you missionary – mostly making love to you the last time while his fingers rub your clit to another orgasm.

The next morning – you find that Jimin has left for his practice again and what do you know; the cut-outs are done and placed tidily on the coffee table in the living room with a note with them – probably from Jimin.

Ugh you loved him so much. Of course you would let him pee on you.

a/n: pls still follow me rj bkfjeneined

#jimin x reader #drabble #hobiwonder #yeah idk #i hope u guys like it too!!

720 notes · View notes

faefictions · 5 years

Text

The Kids From Yesterday | 1

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield x Reader

Word Count: 3,770

Summary: A road trip with her friends on the way to move in with her boyfriend makes the reader realize that she might not be as in love with the person she thought she was.

A/N: Ok, so this was going to be just a one shot, but I couldn't control myself, and it got to be over 10k words before it was even half done, so here is part one of a 3 part (or not, idk how many) series!!

Being in your early twenties is a weird time. Some of your friends are still living at home with curfews, some are still slogging through college, and some are getting married and starting the rest of their lives. When you were younger, you didn’t particularly see yourself being the latter of those options, you had imagined you would wait until your late twenties to settle down. But here you were, 22, sitting across from your boyfriend of 3 years. He had just asked you to move back home with him, and you were sitting speechless. He took it as a happy shock, but if you were going to be honest, it was anything but.

None of your friends really liked your boyfriend, Adam. He wasn’t specifically terrible in any way, but he wasn’t exactly the best fit for you. He was very reserved in social settings, which wasn’t too off-putting for you, but it made it impossible to hang out with your group of friends. You had been friends with the Hollands since birth, so it was difficult to see them not get along with Adam, but you weren’t surprised.

As Adam waited for your reply, you tried to use logic instead of listening to your heart. You of course had a place to stay already, and had never lived anywhere else, but your lease with your best friend and roommate, Harry, was going to be up in a couple months and you were already talking about trying to find a new place. You hadn’t been set on it, but this seemed to be a sign that maybe it was time. And you had never lived far from your hometown, so maybe this was a new adventurous chapter for you. So you agreed. You hadn’t thought about the implications it had for the relationship, but it was too late.

When you got home that night and told Harry, he was less than happy.

“Are you shitting me? Isn’t that something you should think over?”

“Harry, come on. I’ve been dating him for years now, it’s about time we move in together anyway.”

“Yeah, in a flat across town, not in another city, hours away.”

“Harry, come on…”

“When?”

“I think he said next month? But I told him I was staying here with you until our lease is up and that I can just fly out and meet him there.”

Harry went to bed with a frown that night, but it was nothing compared to telling the rest of your friends. Harry’s twin, Sam, was the only one who tried to be at all supportive of you. Their older brother Tom was just as outraged as Harry, but the worst out of all of them was Harrison.

You had only met Harrison a few years before you started dating Adam, so your relationship was different than the ones you had with the Holland boys. To be completely honest, you had had a huge crush on him before you got with Adam, but you knew that dating a friend would cause nothing but trouble, so you gave it up and moved on.

Harrison was very protective of you, something that you loved. Even when Harry would simply tease you, Harrison would be by your side to defend you. He had been there for every single stupid fight you had with Adam, always holding you until you were stable enough to confront your boyfriend again. So when he heard the news of your leaving, his face fell, and it broke your heart.

The 4 boys left empty beer cans littering the counters of your apartment’s kitchen while they drunkenly discussed their “secret” plans to get you to stay. You had argued that it wasn’t secret if you were there to listen, but they shushed you each time. You had to draw the line when they eventually came up with a plan to kill Adam and kidnap you.

“Guys,” you laughed out to get their attention, “I’m sorry, but I have to go. As much as I would love to stay here and spend the rest of my life with you drunken idiots, I have to settle down at some point.”

A sad silence fell over the room, but Harry put a quick end to it.

“You said he was going to head out there before you, yeah?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, how about, we all drive you out instead of you flying to meet him? We can make it a road trip, we’ll take the weekend off and send you off with some proper memories to remember us by.”

The boys all agreed that that was the only way they were going to let you out of their grasp. It sounded like fun, and would save you money since you didn’t have to book a last minute flight, so you agreed.

A month later, Adam flew back to his hometown and began to look for an apartment for the two of you. He had a job arranged already, and you had a few interviews. You tried your best to be excited. You had been craving a change to spice up your mundane life for a while, but this just felt wrong. You loved Adam, but the second he had asked you to go, you had started to question how far that feeling extended. Moving to his home town with him was a big commitment, but you weren’t sure it was one you were wanting to make. You were sure you weren’t ready to be married to him, but the more time you had to think about it, the more you realized that you were fine with being married at this age, you just didn’t want to be married to Adam. But you were in too deep to back out, and every time Adam called you to update you on the apartment search you were reminded by the hope that he would never find something.

A week before your lease was up, your phone screen lit up, and you knew it was the call you had been dreading. He had found the perfect apartment. It was affordable and 10 minutes from a beach. It had a large kitchen and beautiful patio with a view. It was more than you could ask for, and the pictures should have made you feel better about the move, but not even a mansion could make you happy about leaving.

You of course decided to hide this feeling from your friends. If any of the 4 boys found out, they would easily talk you out of it. You just didn’t want to hurt Adam, so you decided to give it a year. If you weren’t happy, you could always move back.

Despite losing his roommate, Harry decided to renew the lease under his name, and he told you if you ever wanted to come back, your room would be open for you. He helped you pack up your things every night for a week before you had to go. It mostly consisted of him throwing things in boxes from across the room and you yelling at him for nearly breaking all of your belongings, but it didn’t make it any less special.

The night before you were set to leave, you both sat on the kitchen floor with a complete mess surrounding you. You were going through each and every belonging and sorting through what belonged to each of you. An hour into sorting, you guys broke out the alcohol, and the sorting became much slower, but the laughter that filled the apartment made it ok. There were mugs and plates scattered across the floor, random utensils and gadgets lying between them, and in the middle was the pair of you with bottles in your hands.

“Ok, but do you remember when our neighbor lit her curtains on fire? They smell spread through the entire building, and you thought it was my cooking,” Harry laughed.

“Of course I do. Do you remember when that same neighbor had that man over and we had to turn the volume on our movie up as far as it could go to drown out their moaning?”

“Burned into my skull.”

You both continued to reminisce as a knock came at the door. You chose to ignore it at first, you wanted to enjoy the last moments you had with Harry as your roommate, the person you wished you could remain living with. But the knock came again, so you got up, realizing suddenly that you had had more to drink than you originally thought.

You stumbled over to the door and opened it to reveal Harrison on the other side. The frown you had from being dragged away from Harry was quickly replaced with a beaming smile when you realized who it was.

“Haz,” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around his neck, “What are you doing here?”

“Have you been drinking?” he chuckled, hands going to your waist.

“I am an adult and it is 10 pm, you have no room to judge, buddy.”

He smiled at you and took a few steps past so he could close the front door for you. “Is Harry around?”

“In here,” Harry called from the kitchen floor.

When Harrison saw the mess surrounding Harry, his face fell to confusion. “Are you guys just trashing the place now?”

“We were sorting through our things, don’t want y/n missing anything when she leaves. What are you doing here?” Harry asked as he stood up to join you.

“I just wanted to see y/n one last time before we left. The apartments not going to be the same without you.”

You tried to hide your blush as you went to offer Harrison a beer from your nearly emptied fridge. He happily took the drink and joined both of you on the kitchen floor. He sat quietly as you and Harry continued to reminisce, a smile appearing on his face with each story. You had noticed that he was quieter than usual, but you were too caught up in the conversation to ask him if he was alright.

After a few hours of drinking on the kitchen floor, the three of you had finally sorted through everything in the kitchen and cleaned up the mess. It was nearing midnight, and as much as you wanted to soak up every last second in the place you had spent the happiest moments of your life, you knew that you had to get some rest for the trip.

“Do you want to stay over tonight, Harrison?”

“Yeah, if that’s fine with you guys.”

“Can we have a sleepover in the living room?” you excitedly asked both of them. There was no way they could say no to your excitement. Within minutes, the couches were covered in blankets and pillows and you were searching for a movie to fall asleep to. You settled on an old action movie that you had seen multiple times with Harry. By the time you had settled into your corner of the couch, Harry was already asleep. You were laying with your head on the arm rest, feet curled up near your chest to leave room for Harrison on the other end of the couch.

“Are you excited to leave tomorrow?” you heard Harrison quietly ask over the movie.

You sat up a little so you could see him clearly. He looked over at you, patiently waiting for a response. You considering telling him about the internal dread you held on the subject, but you had hid it to prevent any of the boys from talking you out of it. Since you were still able to be coerced to stay, you decided against it, but hated lying to him.

You settled on replying with, “I’m a bit nervous.”

“Why would you be nervous?”

Of course it was because you didn’t want to be with Adam, but that was more information you couldn’t divulge.

“It’s just further than I’ve ever been from home, you know? But I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Harrison could tell you were hiding something, but he knew that you were holding back for a reason, so he pretended to believe you.

Nothing else was said as both of your eyes reluctantly turned back to the television, slowly coaxing you both to sleep.

The next morning, you woke up to your alarm going off. The slight headache from the alcohol you had consumed the night before was the last thing on your mind. You tried not to tear up as you woke up the 2 boys. You were feeling a depressing amount of nostalgia, and it was getting hard to hide. But you powered through, and once the boys were awake, all attention was off of you as they began to take your things out to the car. Sam and Tom showed up within an hour after you had woken up, and shortly after, everyone was packed into the car along with the bags and boxes. Luckily you hadn’t needed to bring much. All of your furniture was going to be picked up by your parents to be brought back to your childhood bedroom, and Adam had the furnishings of your new apartment arranged.

The five of you had arranged to share a large hotel room so you could split the drive over 2 days. You could have easily made it in one, but they refused to let you go so soon. They had also planned a few surprise stops along the way.

You spent the first leg of the drive trying to force yourself to live in the moment. Your brain was torn between wanting to soak in every last second with your friends and dreading the destination of your trip. While you knew you would see them again, you weren’t used to not seeing at least one of the boys everyday, so you did your best to focus on them, but the dread was built up so high in the back of your mind that it became impossible to ignore anymore.

After a couple hours of driving, you made it to the first planned stop. It was a large restaurant in the middle of a town you hadn’t heard of. You had no idea why the boys were all so excited to take you there, but it was obvious once you saw the interior. There were deep red tablecloths covering each small table, fancy dishes professionally set atop each one. There was a large, beautiful chandelier in the middle of the large room. The boys all watched your face light up when you saw the inside, and their smiles matched yours when they saw your excitement.

“How did you guys find this place?”

“It was Harrison’s idea,” Tom smiled.

“I saw a picture of it on Instagram, thought you might like it.”

You were surprised that the hostess led your group to a table with how you all were dressed. None of you were wearing anything fancier than jeans, and this restaurant didn’t seem like the kind of place to allow anything less than black tie apparel.

The food you received was amazing, and the company was of equal quality. The meal could have lasted 15 minutes, but you remained seated for over an hour, laughter filling the quiet room. For being so fancy, the place was surprisingly empty.

When you got back on the road, you sat in the backseat between Harry and Sam. Music was blasting through the stereo speakers and the windows were all down, allowing the breeze to blow everyones hair into their faces. You were finally able to push the thoughts to the back of your head and enjoy the car ride, listening to the boys sing along to every song. The drive passed by quicker than you hoped, and you were at the hotel before sundown.

The room the boys had rented had two beds and a pullout couch. The twins called one of the beds, and Tom suggested you share the other with Harrison and he could take the pullout.

You brought your small bag into the room and set it next to the bed designated as yours. The white sheets made it look incredibly inviting, and you were almost tempted to crawl underneath them and take a nap, but it was only late afternoon and if you slept at that point, you were going to be up way too early the next morning.

You weren’t sure who had suggested it first, but everyone had agreed that you all needed to find somewhere to get drunk together. You put your shoes on as the others rushed in and out of the bathroom to get ready.

Within the hour, you left the hotel room and found yourself at a loud local bar. The music blasted through the speakers, and you smiled endlessly as you downed shot after shot of whatever drink was cheapest. You planned on getting the most out of your money for the night. You tried to drag Harry out to the dance floor that had a small crowd of people who were just as terrible as you, but he refused to be seen dancing in public.

“I don’t care how much I have in me, I won’t be caught dead out there tonight, y/n.”

As Harry walked to the booth where his twin was sitting, Harrison took your hand and laughed at your angry, scrunched up face. He led you to where you were trying to take Harry, and you stuck your tongue out over your shoulder to Harry from across the room. He smiled and did the same to you.

The three Holland boys watched as you drunkenly danced with Harrison. You were a few shots ahead of all of them, and it was no secret that you didn’t hold your liquor as well either. You bought a few more shots, but Harrison cut you off eventually, trying to get you to go sit down at the booth with the rest of your friends.

“Its either dancing or more alcohol for me, pick your poison, Haz.”

“Actually, it’s your poison. Dancing it is.”

Your dancing was more of a series of jumping and singing along loudly as you flailed yours and Harrison’s arms. To anyone else, it may have looked ridiculous, but to your friends, it was just you having a good time, something they had missed seeing. It was rare to get a night out like this with you. Adam had really put a damper on your adventures with these boys, and eventually he had put an end to them.

You told Harrison you were going to the bathroom a few minutes after you had been “cut-off”, but you just used it as an excuse to order a few more shots while his back was turned. You had one down when Harrison reached you, wrapped his arms around your waist and tried to carry you away from the counter. You were laughing too hard and flailing around too much for him to get very far. He set you down on the dance floor, a few feet away from where he had grabbed you.

“I said no more,” he lectured, but he couldn’t help the smile creeping up on his face. You were pretending to have no idea what he was talking about, and he found it adorable.

“I just wanted one more. I’m having a good time, Haz,” you finally admitted.

“And you’re one shot away from a bad time.”

You scrunched your nose at him, just like you had done when Harry refused to dance with you. You both knew he was right, so you didn’t fight him on it.

You two walked back to the table and spent some quality time with the rest of the group. They mostly just made fun of your dancing, but you just claimed they were all too chicken to have any real fun by making fools of themselves. You did sneak off one more time to get the last shot you had already paid for, but no one caught you that time.

You were almost asleep on Harry’s shoulder when the boys decided it was time to go back to the hotel. They each offered to carry you, but you insisted that you were completely capable of making it back.

As you walked back to the hotel, you did stumble a little, so Harrison slowed down to your pace, keeping an arm tight around your shoulder as you both trailed behind the others.

“Thanks for dancing with me tonight,” you beamed up at him.

“Of course, I was just glad to see you having a good time.”

“It’s been a while.”

“Well you’ve been living your life, we understand.”

“No, I mean it’s been a while since I’ve had a good time.”

Harrison furrowed his brow at the change in your tone. He wanted to ask what you meant, but felt that he shouldn’t push it when you were this intoxicated.

“Can you keep a secret?” You asked, a little slurred.

“Of course, but…”

“I don’t think I love Adam. I’m kind of afraid I’m making a huge mistake.”

“Y/n…”

“I really should have dumped him when he asked me to move in with him instead of saying yes, but I was dumb. And I’ve been thinking about it, I think I’d rather marry a…a sea urchin.”

He laughed at how you spat the words “sea urchin”, but his laughter quickly subsided as he sadly glanced down at you. Your eyes were set in front of you, and he had never seen them look so dead.

“I wish I could go back in time and say no,” you whispered after a few beats, and he caught a glimpse of a tear roll down your cheek.

He finally paused on the sidewalk and pulled you into his arms, hugging you tightly as a quiet sob came out. His hand held your head against his chest. There was so much he wanted to say in that moment, but he knew he couldn’t. He wasn’t even sure you would remember this moment in the morning. So he just held you in his arms on the sidewalk for a little longer.

Harrison gave you a piggyback for the rest of the way. The moment your head hit the pillow, you were out for the night. Harrison, on the other hand, took your shoes off for you and laid them by the bed. Everyone in the room was snoring as he sat awake with your words running through his head.

Let me know if you would like to be tagged in the other parts of this series! (or if you would like to be added to my permanent taglist!)

taglist: @smilexcaptainx @artsycth @rose-marys-love @chonisberonica @5sos-wdw @chloe-geoghegan1 @spiderlingsweb @embrace-themagic

#harrison #harrison osterfield #harrison osterfeild imagine #harrison osterfeild x reader #harrison osterfield fluff #tom holland #harry holland #sam holland #reader insert #harrison osterfield blurb #harrison osterfiled angst #harrison osterfield x y/n #the kids from yesterday #song fic #harrison osterfield fanfic #harrison osterfield fan fiction

173 notes · View notes

paradisobound · 6 years

Text

I Want It, I Got It: Chapter 1

Summary: Phil Lester was a worker for the BBC in London. Working in the advertising department, he was content being alongside his friend and fellow coworker PJ during every shift. However, the BBC is temporarily being used as a film set for a new movie staring Hollywood ‘It’ star, Daniel Howell. Being stuck as an extra on the set, Phil finds it’s hard to ignore the famous star. And maybe, just maybe, Dan finds it hard to ignore Phil as well.

Word Count: 1.8k (this chapter)

Warnings: Occasional swearing

Rating: Mature (for right now)

A/N: Ahh look at me. Starting another chaptered fic. Remember how I said a while ago that I hoped to have a fic to begin posting by Valentines Day? Well, this isn’t the fic. But I’ll take it lol I know I have a very bad track record lately of completing what I’ve started but I have 10k written on this fic already so I’m set for the next like five weeks which gives me plenty of time to finish the fic! Every one when I asked wanted this fic and I’m so glad because I’ve really grown to fall in love with it!

As always: I’m not an expert, nor a movie star or anything, so I’m not saying any of this accurate. I just thought this might be how it goes. But I hope you all enjoy it anyway! Happy reading!

Updates will be every Sunday at 1pm EST until I have the fic finished and then it’ll be twice weekly

**Masterlist | Read on Ao3**

“Dear Workers,

The BBC Studio will be closed for the next week to accommodate the filming of a new featured film starring Daniel Howell and Mimei Lake. During this time, you will have to work from home on any projects you may be in the middle of. A select few of you will be asked to work on the set as extras for the film. We’ll email those we selected by the end of tomorrow.

Hope this isn’t a hassle and apologies for any inconveniences.

Corporate”

****

“Did you read the new email?” Phil turned his head to his friend PJ sitting next to him in their office. “They’re actually closing down the whole building just to film a few scenes for one movie.”

Phil, coffee in hand and his laptop open to said same email, sighed. “It’s a Daniel Howell movie. Of course they’re shutting down the entire building.”

PJ rolled his eyes. Everyone knew of Daniel Howell. He was only the biggest actor in Hollywood right now. But that didn’t mean that everyone shared in on the fangirling when it came to his name being mentioned. “The BBC is gonna be untouchable all next week. I don’t even wanna know how many girls and guys are going to flock here to meet him.”

“He doesn’t do photos and autographs though?” Phil brought up, setting his mug on the table and shutting his laptop down. His work was nearly done anyway for the day.

“Still never stops the fans.” PJ says, tipping his head. “He’ll mention he’s in London on his Instagram or Twitter and then it’ll be over.”

Phil nodded. Yeah, that sounds pretty much correct. “Fair enough.”

“Who do you think they selected to work on set?” PJ asked. “I reckon they chose some of the interns because that they don’t have to pay them.”

“I hope it’s not me.” Phil says immediately. “God, the less I have to be here during this time, the better.”

“It’s gonna be impossible to even get here.” PJ adds. “They’re gonna block off all of the streets to accommodate Daniel’s massive trailer that he lugs everywhere.”

“I don’t even want to imagine.” Phil says. “I’d much rather just stay in my flat with Spike and work on my laptop.”

PJ nodded in agreement.

Just as PJ began to speak again, the door to their office opened and their coworker Gemma walked in, her expression giddy and a smile plastered on her lips. “Did you two see the email?”

Both PJ and Phil nodded.

“How are you both not more excited about this?” Gemma exclaimed. “Daniel freaking Howell is gonna be walking around our building! He could sit in your chair right now. Or use my office as a set. Or—”

“He’s just another person.” Phil interrupted her.

“But he’s not though!” Gemma shot back with a smile. “Oh, you two don’t get it.” She waved her hand and walked further into the office. She pulled out a chair at the desk next to Phil and plopped down.

“There isn’t much to get.” PJ countered. “He’s just a bloke who happens to be good looking and also a major celebrity.”

“So you do get it!” Gemma pointed out. “I really hope I’m one of the ones corporate selected to work on set as an extra. I would give anything to stand in the same room as Daniel Howell.”

“They’re probably just going to choose interns.” Phil says. “I doubt they’ll choose any of their paid employees.”

“I wonder if I email corporate if they’ll bump my name on the list and I can do it.”

Pj shrugged and tapped his pen against his forehead. “Doesn’t hurt if you really want to do it.”

“I’m steering clear of this building while he’s here.” Phil comments, picking up his now ice cold coffee mug and taking a sip, cringing at the taste of it.

“What do you have against Daniel Howell?” Gemma asks, folding her arms over her chest.

“He’s just another celebrity.” Phil says. “He’s pretentious and rude.”

“You don’t know that.”

Phil rolled his eyes. “It’s common knowledge.”

“What? That every celebrity is a dick?” Gemma asked, her voice clearly laced with tension. “Isn’t that a bit shallow minded?”

Phil shrugged. “Change my mind but until then, I’m gonna stand by it. I doubt any celebrity like Daniel Howell is down to Earth.”

Gemma scoffed. “Well, I for one think that it would be brilliant to work alongside him.”

Phil chuckled and took another sip of his cold coffee. He definitely didn’t want to work alongside Daniel Howell but he had to admit that it was endearing to see Gemma swooning over the actor.

Once Gemma left, Phil began to pick up his things and prepare to go home for the night. He stuffed his laptop in his backpack and then through in some of the folders he needed to complete the advertising project he was assigned to do for the BBC Radio 1 show.

He and PJ left the BBC at the same time and headed to the tube to go back to their flats. They lived in opposite areas of London but they saw each other often outside of work.

When Phil got to his flat and he opened the door with his key, he was immediately greeted by the excited yips of his puppy Spike. He was a ten month old Corgi that Phil adopted as a puppy. Spike kept him busy and less-lonely on nights where he wished he wasn’t thirty one and hopelessly single.

He bent down and scratched Spike’s belly as he rolled around on his carpet from excitement. Phil eventually stopped petting Spike long enough to go to the kitchen and check his food bowl and water. He knew his brother came over sometimes to let out Spike while he was at work so he sometimes fills up his food and water.

Today was one of those days. His food bowl was heaping over and his water was clean and clear. Martyn just came over not that long ago then. He made a mental note to text Martyn but in the mean time, he called Spike over to his door that lead to the courtyard and hooked a leash on his collar to take him outside one more time for good measure.

After being done, Phil let Spike go back into the flat. He immediately ran over and flopped onto his bed next to the couch and closed his eyes to take a nap. Phil sat down on the couch and looked over his phone, catching up on any notifications he might have missed while he was on his way home.

He saw a notification for an email and he sighed. It was probably some junk mail that some store was sending him. He got them a lot from Topman but to be fair, that’s where his entire wardrobe comes from.

He unlocked his phone and clicked on the email notification and waited to load it up. Once it did, he felt all breath leave his chest.

“To: Philip M. Lester.

Good Evening! If you have seen our emails from this morning you would have seen that the BBC will be closed for the filming of a feature film. Effectively 15th of January at 10pm until 9am on 25th of January, the BBC offices and building will be closed for filming.

However, after careful consideration, we would appreciate your help at the BBC during filming as a film extra. You should report to the BBC by half past 7 on the 15th of January.

If you have any question, email us back. This is part of your scheduled job and you will need to report when assigned.

Corporate”

Phil laid down on the couch and groaned.

Of course his luck would have it this way. Of fucking course this would happen.

***

“So we both got stuck coming didn’t we?”

Phil looked at PJ, his eyes still blurry from having to wake up so early. He didn’t even bother to put his contacts in today, he just threw on his glasses and said forget it.

“Guess so.” Phil says, standing beside PJ on the tube. Their stop was the next one. In the morning, they always ended up on the same tube before they got to the BBC. “This is going to be a disaster.”

“It already is.” PJ answers. “Did you go on Twitter this morning?”

Phil shook his head and pulled his phone out of his pocket. But he should have known he wouldn’t have any service while on the underground.

“It was a Twitter moment that Daniel Howell was spotted in London about to begin filming. He also tweeted, in true form, that he was going to be in London for a few weeks.”

“Oh great.” Phil said, rolling his eyes. “So what you mean is that the BBC is gonna be like impenetrable force?”

“Yep.”

Phil sighed and the tube stopped, the doors opening. They stepped outside and wandered through the crowds to the exit. Once they walked out of the tube station, it was over. They saw the crowds beginning already. Hoards of teenagers and even some adults all screaming and holding signs behind a barrier of police.

“Oh my gosh.” Phil exclaimed. “This is absolute madness!”

“Well, here we go, Lad.” PJ said, hooking his arm with Phil’s and yanking him across the street to the main entrance of the BBC.

They were nearly there when they were stopped by police, asking what they were doing. As soon as they both flashed their BBC badges, they were let inside to even more madness going on.

People were running around everywhere. There were sections of the building completely taped off and there were offices on the first floor that were being blocked by people in front of the door.

They continued walking inside and were greeted by a woman with a clipboard. “Can I get your names?”

“PJ Ligouri.”

“Phil Lester.”

The woman looked over the clipboard and smiled and looked at them both. “Welcome! If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to where you need to be.”

Just as they were about to walk and follow the woman, loud cheering and screaming began behind them, just outside the building. Looking out the door, Phil could see him.

Next Chapter

#Phan #phanfic #Phanfiction #au #famous!dan #moviestar!dan #normal!phil #princesslexi763fics

92 notes · View notes

i-choose-liam · 6 years

Text

April Come She Will - A TRR AU fanfic

Summary: What if Liam was a commoner, unburdened with propriety and a horde of duties towards an entire country? What if he was born with the freedom he so longed for, and could go for the woman he wanted without a care in the world? If he was free to pursue his passions and desires, what kind of a lover and man he would be? An Alternate Universe fic set in the USA, where Liam, a commoner, meets and falls for a writer, April.

A/N: I hadn’t envisioned this to be a story about friendship, but it’s turning out to be so. And I can’t say I mind. There will be romance, of course (come on, it’s me who’s writing this), and it will be a sort of slow burn in Liam and April’s case. God, I hate those. But writing this is fun! Let me know what you think of this chapter. Thanks!

Tag list: If I have forgotten to put anyone’s url here, please remind me. And if you want off the tag list, all you have to do is let me know. Thanks! @kennaxval @thatspicegirlssong @lizzybeth1986 @bowful @indescribablechoices @femmeshep @zaffrenotes @hopefulmoonobject

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Liam x Original Female Character

Rating: T

Characters: Liam, Hana Lee, Maxwell Beaumont, Drake Walker, Original characters, and an adorable golden retriever named Sir Arthur.

Chapter 1: Belle of the Boulevard

Chapter 2: Friends

Chapter 3: Hey Tomorrow

Normally, Drake wouldn't have bothered making fancy breakfast for his two friends. But they had been let down after yet another apartment hunt. Since they were both sleeping the disappointment off, Drake supposed he could make something nice to cheer them up. He was in a pretty good mood... before Maxwell burst into the kitchen with his morning mofo energy. "Drake!" He sighed. "What?" "You're not going to believe what I'm about to tell you!" "Your pigeon buddy won't come to the window anymore?" Maxwell said, "I saw Buckbeak just a while ago. But that's not what I am talking about" Drake put away the broken eggshells, asking, "What are you talking about?" Maxwell said, sounding dystopian, "April is not on any social media" "So?" That appalled Maxwell. He exclaimed, "So it's weird and unnatural!" Drake said, "Hey. I'm not on any social media either" "Exactly my point!" He turned to give Maxwell a reproachful look, but the man was rambling. "I didn't even know her last name until yesterday. But then I picked up Liam's Kindle last night and I saw he was reading lesbian erotica. I was like, um... okay. Whatever rocks your boat. Then I saw the writer's name - April Costas! That's why Liam was reading erotica! So I did a little digging of my own. She's not on any social media sites. Doesn't that bother you?" Drake gently pushed him aside, reaching for powdered sugar. He said, "What bothers me is that you two spent your night snooping on a girl. I can understand Liam doing it, he likes her. But you are being you again" Maxwell grinned, "Sparkling and joyful?" "Nosy and annoying"

Liam came into the kitchen, greeting them both with a "good morning". He asked Drake, "Need any help with breakfast?" "No, I got it. You and the Daily Mail here can sit at the table" Maxwell received a sympathetic smile from Liam. He sat down next to him, not quite meeting Liam in the eye. "Why are you name-calling him this early in the morning?", Liam asked Drake. He replied, "Why don't you ask him?" "Maxwell?" Maxwell fidgeted with his fingers, replying, "Well, I... I googled April last night" "Okay?" "She's not on any social media" "I didn't know that" Maxwell asked, "You're not mad at me?" Liam smiled, "Why would I be mad? You can google whoever you want" Drake set two plates before them on the table, saying, "If you two ladies are done having a heart to heart, eat up" The plates were piled with golden French toast, with powdered sugar sprinkled on top. Maxwell's face lit up at the sight of the food. "Yum!", he said. Liam smiled at that reaction and turned to Drake, "Thank you, Drake. This is rather nice of you" "Don't get used to it", Drake smiled. Liam cut a piece of toast for himself. His fork and knife were met with some resistance. 'Strange' He had to apply a little pressure to slice the supposedly soft and fluffy toast. Before putting the morsel in his mouth, he glanced at Maxwell. Maxwell gave him a pained look, his jaws moving around the food in his mouth, like giant cogs on an industrial machine. Liam threw caution to the wind and put the piece of French toast in his own mouth. It was... chewy and bland. But he didn't complain. Next to him, Maxwell whispered, "My teeth are starting to hurt" "Sshh" Sadly for them, they hadn't noticed Drake glaring at them from next to the kitchen stove. He scowled. "What? My food isn't fancy enough for you two freeloaders?" They immediately disagreed. Liam said, "No, no. It's lovely" Maxwell nodded, "Yeah. Really... edible" Drake watched him carefully for a moment before turning back to the stove again. Maxwell whispered, "Where's Sir Arthur? He must be hungry" Liam whispered back, "You're not feeding my dog this. Eat" Drake returned to the table, with French toast piled high in two more plates. Maxwell and Liam gave him their best grateful smiles.

***

April dabbed at her mouth with a paper napkin, having just made clean work of her empanadas. Her agent sat across from her in the red chair, matching the theme of the deli. She ignored their piercingly observant gaze and looked around for a waiter. 'Maybe I can get those little pita wraps' Joel said, their voice crisp as cold water, "You're stress-eating again" April made a face. "I'm not!", she said. "Come on, April. Is it really going to be that difficult for you to maintain a social media presence? All writers have to do that" "I know they do. I am just not..." They said, "Comfortable putting my life details out there for everyone to see - heard that before. I'm not asking you to post nudes. Just... maybe one tweet, one pic, one status update every other day" "But Joel..." "Listen", they leaned forward, the cuffs of their coat sleeves revealing slender wrists, "When I take Porcelain Palace to my contacts in Hollywood, they are going to be like, "April who?". You are virtually non-existent. And your silly website where you review people's fanfiction doesn't count" April leaned back in her chair, folding her arms over her chest. Joel went on, despite the look on her face. "This business is as much about image as it is about storytelling. I told you that when you hired me" They gave April a nurturing smile. "I just don't want your work to be sidetracked in Hollywood. Porcelain Palace deserves to be made into a movie. We need that movie in our time. And I am not going to stop until that happens. Are you?" She mumbled, "No" "We agree then. You will sign up on the sites I just emailed you, and start posting" "Urgh" "Don't be dramatic. And stop stuffing your face. You're going to look like a rikishi soon if you keep at this" "I eat what I want. And I already got my 10k footsteps in today, all right?" "Good", Joel placed some dollar bills on the table and got up, buttoning their coat jacket, "I'll see you in exactly one week. Call me if you need me" "Yeah. Thanks" "Anything for my favourite person" Joel leaned over and planted a kiss on the top of her head. April smirked. "Want to tell Shirin you called me that?" They gave her a stunning grin, walking away, "That's the beauty of being in a mature poly relationship. I don't have to worry about jealousy. Good day, April" She raised her hand in half a wave, sighing, and dropping it the moment Joel was out of sight.

Her social skills had been a big joke since kindergarten. Her mistrust of people in general, coupled with a strong sense of privacy, kept her shielded from the allure of "social sharing". But Joel was trying to create an image for her, and they knew what they were talking about. Problem was - it made April feel hungry again. Her phone buzzed. She saw who the text was from and smiled in surprise. 'Hello, April! Not sure if you remember, but you saved me from a horrendous date at the Whiskey Duck? It's Hana' April quickly texted back. 'Of course I remember. It's great to hear from you! How have you been?' She sat in the small deli during lunch hours, typing away letters and emojis to a welcome distraction.

***

Drake was losing to Maxwell in that stupid kart game when his phone buzzed. He ignored it, but it only buzzed again. "Pause", he said. Maxwell grinned, "Nuh-uh. I'm winning" Drake thought he had no option but to end the race. He swore as Maxwell beat him by a hair's breadth. Ignoring his friend's victory break-dance, he checked his phone. 'What the fuck?' He was part of some chat called Whiskey Ducks. The first text had been from a number he didn't know. 'Hi guys, it's Hana! I just thought this would be a fun and convenient way for me to talk to you all at once :D' The next text was from another unfamiliar number. 'Hello. April here. :)' Drake was still making sense of the thing when a third text was sent in the group. This number he did recognise. 'Yoohoo! Its so great to be able to talk to my friends together! Viva la technology! ^_^' The text was followed by a gif of the Minions hugging and saying "Buddies". "Maxwell!" He nearly jumped on hearing his name. "What?" Drake frowned, showing him the phone screen, "What the hell am I doing in a group text?" Maxwell defended himself, "Hana wanted me to add you and Liam" "IN A GROUP TEX..." The door to Drake's apartment swung open and Liam came in. He closed the door behind him, giving the guys a nod. "Hey", he said. Maxwell quickly turned his attention to Liam. He asked, "How did it go?" "It is affordable, if you don't mind living with rats" "Wait. Cute rats or the creepy ones?" Liam sighed, "Maxwell" He deposited himself on the couch between Drake and Maxwell, much to the latter's relief. Drake was complaining within seconds of Liam's butt hitting the couch. "Look what your precious buddy did. He added us to a group text" "Keep your calm..." "What do you mean 'keep your calm'? He didn't even ask us!" Liam pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, "I wasn't talking to you" Maxwell took that as encouragement to speak up. He said, "There's no harm done. Hana just wanted to invite all of us to Coney Island" Drake said, "I don't want to go to stupid Coney Island. And how did you get Hana's number anyway?" Maxwell revealed with a happy smile, "I added her on pinterest. She has the coolest boards. Especially her food board. Oh my god"

Liam pulled out his phone from the pocket of his jeans, rubbing his sore temples. The apartment hunt and the current state of his job were enough to fill his head with worry. Drake and Maxwell's constant bickering was just the cherry on top of a steaming pile of crap. "You always do this!" "And you always give me hell about it!" They fought, one on each side of Liam. He could feel a headache coming on. But his entire facial expression transformed on seeing who else was in the group chat. Hana said, 'I wanted to invite you all to Coney Island with me. As a thank you for that evening. It will be super fun, I promise!' April replied, 'You don't have to thank us' 'But I really want to! And it's not like I have any friends in New York to enjoy Coney Island with :3 ' April is typing... 'When do you want to go?' Liam smiled. April was such a knight in shining armour. 'How about tomorrow?', Hana suggested. Maxwell is typing... 'Tomorrow's good for meee! I have nothing to do tomorrow' Liam was surprised to see - Drake is typing... 'Like everyday' Maxwell replied with a sad puppy face gif. April is typing... 'Is it okay if I bring my friend Jenna along?' 'Sure! The more, the merrier', Hana said. Reading Jenna's name, both Liam and Maxwell turned to look at Drake. He tried to seem nonchalant, "What?" Liam shrugged. "Just wondering if you can make it tomorrow. You have a thriving business to attend to, you know. Unlike me and Maxwell, who have nothing to do everyday" "Yeah!", Maxwell grinned. Drake glared at Liam, saying, "Why do you always take his side? I'm your best friend!" Maxwell objected to that. "Hey! We are all best friends!" Their phones buzzed again. Hana asked, 'So guys? Does tomorrow afternoon work for you?' Maxwell replied with an enthusiastic yes. Drake replied, 'Ok' Liam had his eyes on April's name in the group text as he typed, 'Can't wait'

#king liam #hana lee #maxwell beaumont #drake walker #trr fanfiction #trr #the royal romance #trr au #liam x oc #liam x april #fanfiction #playchoices

32 notes · View notes

winteriron-trash · 6 years

Note

Hey for the auideas prompt list could you do 3 and 4 combined for WinterIron?

Oh, my god, this ended up 3k long, and I still deleted some filler. Damn. There’s a fuck ton of time skips, just because if there weren’t I would’ve gone overboard and written 10k worth of fic here. Character A is Tony, Character B is Bucky just because the most natural thought would be the other way around, and I wanted to mix it up a bit.

3- ”Old Cold Soul AU”: Character A grew up in an environment where they weren’t offered very much affection as a child and now that they’re older, they have a lot of trouble conveying any emotions outside apathy, sarcasm, and being mildly interested in something. But after befriending Character B, an extremely lovey and affectionate person, Character A begins to fall hard for them. Awkward romance shenanigans ensue as Character A gets flustered over hand holding and hugging because affection is relatively alien to them.4- Character A has been given one month to find and kill Character B. Character B, however, falls in love with Character A.

It was an easy hit. Tony didn’t even understand why he’d been given so much time. It was a quick, easy hit. The son of some politician, a guy about Tony’s age, if a bit older, who seemed pretty laid back enough. It could’ve taken him less than a day if asked. Hell, if Tony pressed it, he could’ve done the job in an hour.

But no. The client had been specific. They wanted Tony to get close to him. Be all chummy, someone known by the family. And then kill the son, right in front of the rest of the family, leaving before they could gather any evidence on Tony. Something about the pain of betrayal or some dumb shit.

Tony really didn’t understand his employers sometimes.

Tony had asked, even begged, for the job to be given to someone else. Natasha was the best at putting on airs, she could have anyone wrapped around her finger in minutes. Everyone liked Clint, he was the type of guy you couldn’t even try to hate. Hell, even Sam had a charm to him.

But no. It was Tony’s mission. It always had to be Tony’s mission.

Tony didn’t mind killing people. He was an assassin for that reason. He was the cliche of all cliches, as Clint had put it, when it came to being an assassin. A borderline alcoholic, hardened and scarred by a shitty life, who’s only two emotions were apathy and sarcasm. And he was fine with that, in all honesty. As long as Tony got the job done, he didn’t care.

This job though was going to be the death of Tony. And just to prove a fucking point, he wasn’t even going to try. Maybe if he fucked it up, Fury wouldn’t send him on touchy-feely bullshit like this and let Tony do what he was good at.

Tony studied his file one last time with an annoyed sigh. James Barnes would be dead in a month, and no one could stop that.

James Barnes was attractive, in a youthful sort of way. His hair stuck up in wild directions, his smile glittered with a wicked gleam of a rich kid living at the height of his life.

“You’re my new bodyguard, right?” James said, pointing at Tony.

Tony chewed on his gum, containing his glare to a simple deadpan look. “Yes. Antonio Carbonell.” Tony was still pissed at Fury for making that his alias. It was too close to his real name.

“Cool.” James grinned. “I’m James, but everyone calls me Bucky. You can call me Bucky.” He studied Tony. “Aren’t you a bit young to be a bodyguard?”

He was, objectively. Tony was in his early twenties and looked his age, if not a bit younger. With the right hairstyle, he could pass for sixteen. “I passed the background check.” was Tony’s only response. “I’m supposed to be undercover.”

James shrugged. “Okay. So what, I’m supposed to tell everyone you’re my sulky new friend in a leather jacket with a gun in your waistband?”

Tony tilted his head to the side. “I don’t have a gun in my waistband.” His gun was in his coat pocket, thank you very much. With two knives.

“Are you sure?” James leered, wearing a filthy smirk. “Maybe I’ll have to check.”

“With all due respect, Mister Barnes-”

“Bucky.”

“Mister Barnes,” Tony repeated, eyes narrowing a fraction. “Our relationship is a professional one, and will be maintained as such.”

James pouted a bit. “You’re no fun.” He walked down the street, and Tony followed him. “Did you hear what I did to my last bodyguard that made him quit?”

“No.”

“Okay,” James said, in a way that was leading up to a story Tony most definitely didn’t want to hear. “So don’t ask how, but I had ten pounds of guacamole, a rubber chicken, and one of those office chairs with wheels…”

James Barnes was going to be the death of Tony. There was no question about it, it wasn’t an if, it was a when. When would Tony finally snap and shoot himself in the foot because of this abomination of a human being.

Tony was sitting in a coffee shop, sipping a black coffee as James waited for his friend.

“Hey!” James said suddenly, catching Tony’s attention. “Stevie! Over here you dumb punk!”

A blond man came and sat at their table, wearing a tired smile. “Hey, Buck.”

James grinned. “Hey, punk.”

“Jerk.” The blond man punched his arm.

“Steve, this is my new bodyguard Antonio.” Bucky introduced. “Tony, this is my best friend Steve.”

“Don’t call me that.” Tony deadpanned.

Steve blinked. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Antonio.” He offered his hand for a shake. Tony only stared at him, sipping his coffee.

“Yeah, he’s like that.” Bucky waved, speaking to Steve. “A real killjoy.”

Oh, that was ironic. Tony almost smiled at that. Almost.

“He’s young,” Steve noted.

“He’s undercover.” Bucky shrugged.

Tony held back an eye-roll. “Won’t be if you tell everyone.”

Steve snorted.

Three weeks later, Tony was ducking between drunk twenty-year-olds, looking for Bu-James. He zeroed in on an annoying laugh.

“Come on.” Tony grabbed James’ arm, tugging him away from the blonde slut that was getting a bit handsy with him.

“Tony!” James nearly shouted with delight. “Tony, why didn’t you tell me you were coming, I would’ve gotten you a drink.”

“Fuck your drink.” Tony damn near snarled, grabbing the red solo cup from James’ hand and dumping it in a plant. “You’re gonna get alcohol poisoning if you keep it up.”

“No!” James wailed. “I was drinking that.”

“Aren’t anymore.” Tony deadpanned. “Come on, you need sleep.”

James stumbled, and Tony righted him. “That depends, will you come to bed with me?” James purred, and a hand grabbed at Tony’s ass.

“No.”

“Why not?” James whined. “I’ve tried everything!”

Tony glanced up at him as he herded James into a car. “The hell is that supposed to mean?” Tony asked, sliding in next to James, giving the driver the go-ahead to start driving.

“I’ve tried getting you coffee, I’ve tried asking you if you wanna do romantic shit, I’ve even tried just hitting on you! What do I gotta do to be with you?” James asked, with the biggest damned puppy eyes Tony had ever seen. James whined, putting his head on Tony’s shoulder. Tony didn’t push it off.

“I’m your bodyguard.” Tony kept his tone even, professional.

“Yeah, but it always works out in the movies,” James mumbled.

Tony stared at him. One more week. One more week until Tony was supposed to pull the trigger. “This isn’t a movie, James.”

“Do you even like me?” James looked up at him. “Even a little bit?”

Tony didn’t say anything.

“Damnit,” James muttered, wiping at his eyes. “Damnit. I thought- I thought if I loved your stupid face so much, maybe I’d get somethin’ back.

“You don’t even know me.” Tony didn’t know why his throat was so tight as he said that.

“Maybe not,” James admitted with a sniff. “But I wanted to.”

Tony didn’t say anything. He didn’t have anything to say. He looked out the window with a pained sigh.

Wait.

“Hey.” Tony knocked on the window between the driver and passengers seats. “Hey, where the hell is this car going?”

“Sorry, kid.” The driver said, and that was not a driver who worked for the Barnes. Fucking shit. “It ain’t personal.”

Tony pulled out his Glock, cocking it. “Oh shut the hell up.”

“Tony?” James sat up, frowning through the haze of alcohol.

“Get down, and don’t fucking move,” Tony ordered. “You do exactly what I tell you, okay? Shit’s gonna get messy.”

Tony shot the driver in the shoulder first. Not because he was too sentimental about the man, but only to make sure if he didn’t have accomplices, Tony would still have someone breathing to interrogate.

The car veered, and Tony shielded James’ head with his own jacket as they crashed.

Then there was gunfire, and things really went to shit.

“Get down!” Tony barked.

“Oh fuck, I’m gonna puke.” James groaned.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Stay in the car. I don’t care what you hear, just stay in the fucking car unless I tell you otherwise.”

Before James could give Tony a confirmation, Tony was barreling out of the car.

One other car. Four guys. Judging by their gait, minimal training. Oh, this would be easy. Just a little stretch.

Tony identified the biggest guy and took him out first, bullet straight to the head. The other three charged, and Tony had to hold back a smile.

Ugly #1 took a swing at Tony’s head. Bad move. Never aim for the head first. Tony grabbed his fist, yanking him forward to use his other arm to break Ugly #1’s elbow over his knee. His scream was cut off by Tony snapping his neck.

Ugly #2 was at least a bit more oriented in his attack. He swung low with a fake out and managed to clip Tony in the jaw with the real hit. Tony snarled and pulled him forward by his still outstretched arm, shooting him in the chest.

Ugly #3 shot at Tony, firing so many bullets Tony wasn’t even sure if he was aiming. He did get a lucky shot in, grazing Tony’s bicep just before Tony shot him in the face.

Once they were all down, Tony ran back to the car with James and the driver still in it. He opened the drivers’ door, dragging the half-conscious man out of the car.

“If you think I’m gonna talk, you’re nuts.” The man laughed reaching into his pocket. Tony slammed his foot down on the hand, sending a cyanide tablet skittering across the pavement. The man screamed.

Tony squatted over him, pulling out a small knife. “Here’s the thing.” Tony’s voice dropped an octave, tone taking on what Clint had once called his ‘death death murder voice’. “I know you’re going to talk.” Tony trailed his knife over the man’s arm. “You’ve got ten fingers. And for every second you keep me waiting, you lose one. After that, who knows,” Tony dug his elbow into the man’s chest. “Maybe I’ll start breaking ribs.”

“Fuck you.” The man hissed.

Tony shrugged and snapped the man’s pinky with a quick move. His scream was like fucking music to Tony’s ears. “See? Look at me, being merciful. I didn’t even cut it off.” Tony leaned in close. “Can’t be too sure I’ll be that nice again.”

“HYDRA!” The man gasped. “I work for HYDRA! I don’t fucking know what they want with the kid, okay? They just said take him in, alive. They’ve got plans, wanna experiment on him or some shit. Said something about making an example outta him so other rich families wouldn’t step outta line! Shit, that’s all I know!”

“Hm.” Tony stood up. “I believe you. The cops won’t. But because I’m feeling generous, I’ll let you handle them on your own.” He slammed the butt of his gun against the man’s temple, and he was out cold.

“Oh god.” James was standing up, well, leaning against the car. “You just killed those guys. Who’s HYDRA?”

“I told you to stay in the car,” Tony growled. He dragged James over to the curb. “Sit down, I’m calling your parents.”

An hour later Tony was standing in front of a cop, recounting the story. He left out the bit about HYDRA, though.

“Don’t you think you went a bit overboard for self-defence?” The cop asked.

Tony shrugged. “It wasn’t self-defence. I was doing my job.”

“Bit young for this type of work.” The cop arched an eyebrow.

“So everyone says.” Tony deadpanned. He pressed the ice pack a medic had given him to his jaw.

The cop sighed. “You and Mister Barnes need to go down to the station to give your official statements. Considering this is a Barnes related incident, it’ll get swept under the rug. The worst you’re gonna face is that nasty bruise you got going on there.”

Tony forced a fake smile. “Thanks.” He stormed over to James, whose parents were still fussing over him.

“Thank you.” Mrs Barnes damn near tackled Tony with a hug. “Thank you for keeping him safe.”

“It’s what you hired me for,” Tony said. Tony glanced over at James, pursing his lips. “And if I’m allowed to speak freely…”

Mr Barnes arched an eyebrow, waiting.

Tony pulled out a cigarette, lighting it. “Might wanna be careful who you play in the sandbox with. I’m just some bodyguard. I don’t know a damned thing.” He shrugged, taking a drag. “But if I did know something, I’d tell you HYDRA’s got a big ass red target on your backs.” He spun on his heel, facing away from them. “But you know. That’d only be if I knew anything.”

He walked across the pavement, over to where James was sitting on the curb, still wearing Tony’s jacket around his shoulders.

“Hey.” Tony nudged him with his foot.

James glanced up. “You saved my life.”

Tony arched an eyebrow. “Is it that shocking that I did my job?”

“You killed four guys,” James whispered. “And you don’t even look winded.”

Tony sat down next to James. “I’ll have you know, I have a killer pain in my jaw right about now.”

James snorted. “Wow. You actually have a sense of humour.”

Tony didn’t say anything, only taking another drag.

“Thank you,” James said, staring at his hands. “You… I don’t know, you did some freaky shit tonight. I don’t know what it’s like to be a bodyguard, but I don’t think racking up a body count is supposed to be a part of the job.” James shook his head. “You’re my age, and… well, I’m scared shitless at the idea of haftin’ to kill someone.”

“It’s a part of the job.” Tony shrugged. He closed his eyes and sighed.

At least now he knew why the hit on James had been put out, and why it’d been so important that Tony get close, make it personal. If the Barnes had ties to HYDRA… Fury would do anything to cut those ties. Make an example of James. Not too different from what HYDRA wanted to do.

Ironic.

“Hey,” James elbowed him. “What’s wrong?”

“I just killed four guys, you really wanna ask me that?” Tony glanced at him.

“So you do have a heart.” James elbowed him again, grinning.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Shut up. Come on, let’s get your drunk ass home.”

Tony tried not to think too hard about the fact that he stayed the night watching James sleep.

James woke up with a groan, gripping his head. “I'm dying.”

“Yeah, that much vodka can do that to a person,” Tony noted, sipping a cup of coffee.

“I liked you better when you had no personality.” James moaned, shoved his face into a pillow. “Sarcastic Tony is a dick.”

“I try.” Tony pushed himself to his feet.

James sat up with a guttural noise. “I’m dead.”

“Uhuh.” Tony walked over to him, offering a bottle of aspirin and water.

“Hey, I almost got killed last night.” James pouted, taking the aspirin and water. “You could give me a little sympathy.”

“Why? I saved your sorry ass.” Tony took the aspirin bottle back and set it down.

James stared at Tony. Tony… Tony didn’t know how to understand the look on James’ face. James leaned forward, and Tony, someone who’d always hated people up in his personal space, didn’t move away.

“I have a theory,” James said suddenly, voice soft.

Tony couldn’t do much else than arch an eyebrow.

“I think…” James cleared his throat. “I think maybe you do like me. But you don’t know shit about emotions. You’re like the old, rugged hero who buries his emotions by punching people. And I think if you let yourself like me, you’d be a lot happier.”

Tony blinked. He took a deep breath. “I think your hangover is doing most of the talking for you.” He spun on his heel, walking away from Bucky. No, James. Walking away from James.

“See?” James stood up, then groaned, grabbing his head. He righted himself again, following Tony. “That’s what I mean! You completely avoided the emotions!”

“You’re my employer, Mister Barnes.” Tony glanced over his shoulder. “That’s the only emotion that needs to be between us.”

“Need and want are two different things.”

Tony studied Bucky. Six days. He had six days to live. Tony couldn’t get emotional, those sorts of things could get messy. They always did. Bucky was just another mark. Tony tried not to think about how things might’ve been different if Bucky wasn’t his mark.

“Your point?” Tony fought to keep his voice even.

“My point is,” James grabbed his arm. “I want you. And I think you want me too. Just… give me a chance?”

“You don’t want to get tangled with me, Barnes.” Tony pushed his hand away. “Your father has a press conference in an hour. I suggest you get dressed.”

Bucky was right. Tony had a problem. Oh god, he had a big problem.

He was supposed to kill Bucky today. In fact, his deadline was in less than an hour.

And Tony knew he wouldn’t be able to make it. Oh fuck.

“Mister Carbonel?” Bucky’s mother called. “Would you like some pasta? It’s amazing. Tastes like it came from Italy.”

Tony glanced up. It did admittedly smell amazing, like something his mother would’ve made ages ago. But with the way Tony’s gut was churning, he couldn’t stomach it. “No thank you.” He shook his head.

She offered him a smile but sat down to eat with her family. Tony watched them eat, watched them while away his precious time.

This would’ve been a perfect time. With both parents present, a calm atmosphere, no one would see it coming. Tony could pull out his knife, slit Bucky’s throat. Be out of the state before morning, ready for a new mark, with SHIELD already covering his tracks.

He couldn’t do it, though. Tony knew he couldn’t. Bucky was right. Tony liked him. And as someone who wasn’t used to emotions, he couldn’t do it. So instead he numbly watched the family eat dinner, clean up the dishes, then followed Bucky to his room.

“James.” Tony grabbed Bucky’s arm.

Bucky screamed. “Jesus fuck! Don’t scare me like that!” He thought a moment and frowned. “Hey, you called me by my first-”

Tony glared hard at him. “Shut up. James, do you trust me?”

“Do I- what?” Bucky blinked.

“Do. You. Trust. Me.”

“Yes?” Bucky tilted his head to the side.

Tony nodded. “Good. Pack this pack-” he threw a black duffel bag at Bucky- “with only what you absolutely need. Now.”

“Wait, what?” Bucky caught the bag but didn’t do anything with it. “Look, if you’re trying to get me to elope, you should know I’m honoured but-”

“God, would you shut up!” Tony snapped. “I’m trying to save your fucking life. I’ll explain in the car if you just move!”

Bucky stared at him for a long moment, then shook himself out of it and started moving. “I really hope you’re not kidnapping me.” He muttered as he shoved clothing into the bag.

It took Bucky less than ten minutes to pack, something Tony was marginally impressed by. He grabbed Bucky’s arm, dragging him down the stair, out the back door, and into a car.

“Okay, do I get an explanation now?” Bucky asked as they started driving.

“It’s not one you’re going to like,” Tony warned.

“I don’t care.” Bucky insisted.

Tony took a deep breath. “I was hired to kill you.” James opened his mouth, but Tony silenced him with a finger. “Shut up and let me finish. I work for a place called SHIELD. I’m an assassin. You were my mark. They wanted me to get close to you, then kill you.

“I didn’t want to take the job. I don’t do long-term marks. I’m in, I’m out. That’s what I’m good with. But apparently, I was on someone’s shit list. And I got you. Look, you know how those guys said they were HYDRA? The ones who tried to kill you?”

“Yeah?” Bucky was nodding along but didn’t look quite like he was getting it.

Tony flexed his fingers on the wheel. “HYDRA and SHIELD are longtime rivals. Don’t ask me why. Your parents were working closely with HYDRA, and SHIELD wants to hit them where it hurts.” Tony glanced at Bucky. “They must’ve stepped out of line, though. Because HYDRA doesn’t seem too keen on them either. And you’re the collateral damage both ways.”

“Oh,” Bucky whispered. “Oh. Shit.”

“Yeah, shit is right.” Tony gripped. “And trust me, when SHIELD realizes I missed my mark, they’ll send someone in to finish the job, and it really won’t be pretty.”

“Why?”

“What?” Tony said.

“Why?” Bucky repeated. “Why did you save me? Why didn’t you kill me? You… you killed four guys without thinking. Even if you didn’t want to kill me… you could’ve just left me. You’ll get in trouble for this, right? Saving my life and protecting me?”

“I can handle that heat.” Tony shrugged. “As for saving you… maybe you weren’t completely off base.” He said quietly. “About the emotions stuff.”

Bucky sat in silence. “Oh my god. You like me.” He finally, finally whispered.

“Shut up.”

72 notes · View notes

eloarei · 7 years

Text

WIP Game

List the things you’re excited to work on this year in as little or as much detail as you like, and then tag some friends!

Tagged by @enchantedtalisman (and again it won’t tag you. Tch. Sorry. But thanks for the tag!)

(Behind a cut, because you don’t want to read all that. ...Or maybe you do?)

In no particular order, because my level of excitement changes at the drop of a hat: 6 BNHA fics, and one each FFXV and FO4. 1700 words of synopses and babbling. (Friends who read my stuff: if you wanna skim through these and tell me which one(s) (if any) you’d most want to read, that’d be rad. =D Will it influence what I work on? Who knows? My inspiration is fickle as shit. But it couldn’t hurt.)

1. “Touch2” -- current WIP, 10k + notes. BNHA. Dekumight. Estimated total: 20k? Picking up right where “Touch” left off, this fic is a slightly more detailed/slow/slice-of-life story than its predecessor. The 10k I’ve written so far takes place over the course of only 2 days, and it’s mostly Toshi and Izuku getting to know each other, and Toshi being yelled at by his manager (an OC called Suzuki). The general plot of the story doesn’t deviate very far from canon, as far as I’ve planned. “Touch2” will probably cover at least up to the entrance exam, but I’m not entirely sure. Given that leisurely pace, there’ll probably have to be a Touch3 and 4 as well, if not even more. I’ve been slowly hacking away at this one since the start of December, just in between whatever else I might be working on. Kind of got to a point where I need to actually think about what happens next? ^^; Also, it’s gotten too long to be a one-shot, I think, but I’m going to have to be careful how I split it up. It’s not written for splitting… Well, I’ll figure it out. Just gotta keep writing first.

2. “Make the Most sequel, and side stories” -- only notes. BNHA. Dekumight. Estimated total: lots??? I’m lumping these all together, but this includes quite a few stories, some of which I have plans/notes for, some only ideas. One of the first is a fic that might be, at most, half the length of MtM, which is the events of MtM from Toshi’s POV. This was actually requested by a friend, but it was something I kind of already wanted to do, which is cool. Other side stories include perspectives from other characters, some things like dates and vacations, Izuku learning to use his powers, and some extra NSFW scenes, because why not? After all of those, I intend for there to be an ‘official sequel’, taking place towards the end of Izuku’s college run, which might function as more of an epilogue than a sequel, due to the potential lack of actual plot. Geez there is just so much potential for this series to go on in side-stories and extras and etc. I actually get a little mad at myself whenever I neglect to continue it, because it’s sort of my main, well, IP, I guess you’d say. It’s my kudos breadwinner. XD I should just do it!

3. “Loveless epilogue” -- only notes. BNHA. Dekumight. Estimated total: 7k? A short...er sequel/epilogue, taking place roughly a year (I might change that) after the main story, revolving (spoiler alert) around Toshi figuring out if/when/how to propose to Izuku, and summing up how things have gone in the past year. Mushy because I love marriage, okay guys, I just love it so much, and also a little bit morbid because of an in-universe tradition that could be considered either romantic or creepy, depending on your views. =D I actually ought to write this one like… immediately, while the main fic is still fresh in my mind. It’s extremely self-indulgent, maybe more than just, y’know, my normal writing. But I think at least some of the people who read LOVELESS will like it. ^^ And I will, I think. And that’s all that really matters, right?! *shakes head ‘no’*

4. “Waste” -- current WIP, 1k + notes. BNHA. Dekumight(-ish?), and Deku+friends. Estimated total: 15k???? No. Probably more. A Fallout fusion. Vault 211 (21-1 or twenty-one one) has been carefully breeding superpowers into its population for the past 200 years, but if yours doesn’t show up by your 18th birthday, prepare to be kicked out on your ass into the unforgiving wasteland. Guess who’s the newest resident of the wastes? Lucky for Izuku, he meets a frightening creature who takes to looking out for him. ‘Human’ under some description, he’s sure, this guy has radiation levels through the roof. Burly super-mutant by day, gangly rotting ghoul by night, he doesn’t exactly have a lot of friends, but boy is he good at surviving in the hellscape that the world has become. I freaking love Fallout a whole lot, and look, Toshi/All Might is so very much a ghoul/super mutant, and vaults just give you so much free reign to give people powers and etc etc, look, it just seemed like something that would work. Not sure really how it’s going to go, but we’ll see. =]

5. “Nana/Toshi darkfic” -- only notes. BNHA. Nana/Toshi (probably NSFW) and Dekumight. Estimated total: 20k??? His mentor was beautiful, kind, strong-- perfect. He didn’t realize she was being eaten away by a dark pit in her heart. He didn’t know if leaving her alone would help it. He just wanted to be with her so badly, to please her, to make that smile real, and she lacked the fortitude to refuse him anything that would make him happy. A fic about Nana and Toshi becoming perhaps too close, and Nana struggling with depression. Following the canon timeline moderately closely, it shouldn’t be a surprise that it will include a major character death, and the fallout surrounding it. Hoo boy did the desire to write this fic just hit me like a ton of bricks a few weeks ago. This is going to be a dark, sad, uncomfortable story, most likely. And although it will end with Dekumight, the large part of the plot will still revolve around Nana/Toshi, so I’m not sure most of my normal readers will want to touch it. XD;;; I think the inspiration to write this came somewhat from the feeling that the ending to LOVELESS was not nearly as dark as it could have been, haha. Every so often I just want to challenge myself and see how many boundaries I can push. ^^;

6. “Feed” -- only notes. BNHA. Dekumight. Estimated total: 15k? In a world ruled by a vampiric shadow known as All for One, Izuku’s group has been trying to find ways to fight him. Nearly everyone is of this man’s blood now, since he started handing out powers to gain followers. But it’s said that an artifact of some sort exists still which can give the power to defeat him. Izuku, with the purest blood of his group, is chosen to seek it out. But the artifact is a vampire, the last of AfO’s first ‘children’, frozen and starving after failing to defeat his ‘father’, and Izuku almost doesn’t survive the encounter. I want to write this fic, and I think I should do it while it’s still cold and gloomy, because that’s the feel of the setting, but if I get distracted and don’t get around to it, I probably won’t be too upset.

7. “Parents AU” -- current WIP, 6k + notes. FFXV. Gladnis + Ignis&Noctis. Estimated total: 40k? Teenage Ignis and Gladio happen to be babysitting the toddler prince when the Empire attacks, and in the chaos they manage to get safely mixed into the crowd of civilians fleeing the city. They decide to treat him as their own until they can be sure it’s safe to return him to someone with more seniority. But will it ever be safe? Fifteen years in hiding says no, and even when Noct is old enough to be asked to save the world, there’s no way in hell his parents are going to let him go it alone. I tried to continue writing this the other day and it was terrible. Painful. I almost cried. Literally every word of the 30 or so I managed before I gave up were the hardest things I’ve ever written. I think if I go back and play the game again (which I’d like to, since there’ve been updates and DLC), I think it will be easier. Honestly though, this is one of my favorite things I’ve yet written, so if I don’t see it to fruition, I will be moderately pissed.

8. “Same Heart” -- current WIP, 30k + notes. FO4. Estimated total: 90k (35k for act 1) The great synth detective Nick Valentine is recaptured by the Institute, remade and reset. He awakes to his new life underground, unaware that he ever roamed the wasteland-- except for the rare moments when they plug in his old memories so they can grill him for info. Though the memories are gone again after every session, they leave an aftertaste of distrust for the people he’s working with, until it’s too much to ignore. Meanwhile, he finds himself as the only person who seems to truly care about the little boy they’re all calling their savior, doing his best to help him grow up with some modicum of love in this sterile environment. When Nick finally decides to break out of their fancy little prison, it’s not a question whether he’ll take Shaun with him, and it’s obvious where they’ll go: to find the parents the Institute stole him from. This one haunts me, because I spent like 3 months doing practically nothing but writing this last year. I got almost, almost all the way through the first act (out of 3), and then… stopped. Now I know it’s going to be impossible to get back into. And this is already a very different story for me, because it’s essentially a gen fic. The intention is for acts 2 and 3 to focus on Nick and the ‘sole survivor’ Nora, but the whole first act is about him half-raising her son, Shaun. I really want to finish this, or geez, at least the first act! Because it is painful having 30k sitting around that nobody has ever seen. And it’s pretty decent! But even though I have 6 chapters done, I don’t want to start posting it until it has a halfway decent ‘conclusion’, so I need to finish the act. I have to.

And I’ll tag… uh… @oldseablues, @braincoins, @thenightisdarkandfullofbooty, @orionskingdom, @animeuzumaki7, @blessedblooduniverse, @rangrids, and anyone else who’s reading this and is also a writer. =] Tag me back so I can see it, please! ^^

#elo talks #elo fics #tag meme

15 notes · View notes

ii-thiscat-ii · 7 years

Text

Hey, do you remember my horribly self-indulgent Hogwarts AU? Well, now there’s more of it. 10k words of prequel, in fact. On the upside, I think I won against my writers block. It took half a year, but I did.

On Ao3

At a corner table of the outdoors section of a small London café one summer afternoon relatively soon after the turn of the millennium, a creature of incomprehensible power haphazardly folded into the shape of a young man approximately two decades of age sat reading a newspaper in which the pictures moved. He talked as he read. An outside observer might think he talked to himself, and maybe he did.

“Wizards,” he muttered, turning a page apathetically. “Such boring, unchanging creatures. Stuck centuries in the past of everyone else.”

But things have been changing recently, haven’t they? It’s the 21th century. With the advent of the internet, you know muggle-borns won’t accept their antiquated practices as superior much longer. Not with the way the world is changing. And the world is changing. Things are starting to get more interesting.

He turned another page and paused at a headline. A small smile crossed his face.

“Maybe, maybe. I nothing else it could be interesting to watch the stubborn old buggers be forced to confront the world progressing.”

Considering all their spells are still developed on principles that reject modern technology as a matter of nature. It will be a tough transition.

His smile widened as he read the article. “They’d have to finally admit that theirs is not the only kind of magic. Yes, that might be interesting to see. Maybe I do want to give them that push. A wizard, huh…”

You have been wanting to try this for a while.

A woman’s voice cut through his muttering. “About time, isn’t it?”

He looked up from the paper to see the owner of the voice stand by his table with a new cup of tea and a paper of her own. Her skin was lightly coloured and her hair was long and unwieldy, tied back to keep out of her face.

He put the paper down without closing it, displaying the title, ‘New Law Passes! The Definition of Human Redefined?’

“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s a victory for basic logic, sure, but as far as I’m aware, there doesn’t exist anyone yet who will actually be affected by this one.”

“That’s not the point!” she said. Then she smiled a little sheepishly. “I’m sorry, may I sit down? I should’ve asked.”

He gestured for her to sit and she did. “Then what is the point?” he asked.

“Well… it’s a first step. It seems like such a small thing, right? It’s just saying that anything that is indistinguishable from a human in any way must be treated as a human, and that’s not a difficult thing to agree with, especially since no homunculi that good have ever been created, but it’s about the change in attitudes.”

He sat back with an expression of polite curiosity and tilted his head as she took a deep breath to continue.

“It’s not that far, mentally, from ‘you don’t need human parents to be human’ to ‘you don’t need to be human to have human rights’. Not really, not if we play it right, and that’s really what we’re trying to do, right? Make sure what you’re allowed to do and what people are allowed to do to you depends on your capacity for understanding and not whether you belong to this particular species. This is the first step towards that, and we can build on it.”

He picked up his own cup and smiled into it, while she had set her down to gesture. “I admit I wouldn’t mind human rights,” he said.

She froze and closed her mouth with a click. “Oh,” she said, and instinctively ran her eyes over him.

His smile widened. “You couldn’t tell, can you.”

“Ah, no I-” she said, faltering. “I’m sorry, I was just surprised. Do you mind if I ask?”

He gestured for her to continue with a wave of his hand.

“Werewolf?” she asked tentatively.

“Really,” he said. “You of all people should know werewolves are just as human as the rest of you.”

“Well, not all people think so,” she said with an apologetic smile. She fidgeted with her cup on the table, and suddenly she was not quite sure where to look. She might have been staring a bit. “I’m sorry, I just- I honestly can’t tell, and I can’t think of any non-humans that can pass that convincingly.”

He took a sip from his cup and chuckled. “I’m not surprised. There’s more between heaven and earth than you wizards are aware of.”

“Oh,” she said, and went back to studying him.

He gave her a strange feeling. It was like unrest, made her fidget on her chair as if she should be moving, walking away. His eyes, following her every movement, were filled with amusement. Every part of him looked utterly human, and she could not quite understand what about him made her so convinced he was telling the truth. It took her a minute to realize he was not blinking.

“Technically,” she said with a dismissive snort, trying to calm herself down a little. “I’m a witch, not a wizard.”

His amused smile stayed the same, but he raised an eyebrow. “What’s the difference?”

“Well, I’m female, for one.”

“Still can’t see a difference,” he said, draining his cup.

She paused for a moment. “Was that some kind of insult?” she asked.

He laughed, and closed his eyes as he did so, which made him look a smidge more human. “It was mostly a comment on human gender norms,” he said, “but if you want to know the truth, ‘witch’ was a word wizards stole some eighteen hundred years ago when they didn’t want their women to be called the same as themselves anymore.”

“Stole from who?” the woman asked, blinking.

“The witches, obviously,” he replied with a grin.

She gave him a dry look.

His grin widened before he continued. “Again I’m not surprised. There weren’t many of them in the first place before your predecessors exterminated them, and they weren’t quite as… loud… as you tend to be. It wasn’t too difficult for them to hide the records of their actions from history.”

A minute or three passed in horrified silence. Well, she was horrified. She had a feeling that if anything could horrify him, she did never, ever want to see it. She thought. He turned a page in his newspaper and chuckled at a notice in the margin.

“If you don’t mind,” she said, eventually. “How do you know this, if they erased it so well?”

“Hm?” he looked back up. “I was there. It was worth seeing.”

“Oh,” she said again, then, quieter, “I imagine you don’t have the best impression of wizards, huh?”

He shrugged. “Eh, it’s human nature. You’ve been getting a lot better lately.” He indicated the article that had prompted her into approaching him in the first place. “I can’t really dislike you too much when you give me opportunities like this.”

“Uh-huh?” she said. Her hands were shaking. She forced them flat on the table. “What opportunity, exactly?”

“There doesn’t exist anyone for this law to apply to… yet. Right?”

He grinned sharply. As she processed the implications of his statement, he neatly folded up his paper and put it down on the table. Then he got up.

“Well, it’s been a pleasure to meet you, Ma-am. I enjoyed our conversation, but if you don’t mind, I have places to be.”

She could only nod dumbly at him, and then he was gone.

It took her a few moments to convince herself that he had in fact been there. The newspaper folded up on the table beside the empty cup, along with her own nearly untouched cup indicating a conversation partner proved it.

It just felt like he had never been there.

One moment he was, and another he was gone, the moment in-between conspicuously missing.

She drew a deep breath and drank her cooling tea.

She had a lot of thinking to do. There was research to be done, things to set in motion. The world was moving and she wanted to be one of the people moving it.

She had a strange feeling they would all have to be ready to run sometime soon.

---

The creature shed his disguise once he came into the confines of his own home. Still, he snickered.

“Ah, that was hysterical,” he said to himself and whoever else might be listening. “I’ll never get tired of doing that to people.”

She did stop talking very quickly.

The creature laughed at that for a few more minutes before he calmed down. “Well,” he said. “If I’ve decided to do this I might as well get started.”

A few movements were made in a dimension any human present would have trouble processing, and a bright point of light started growing in the middle of the space. The creature fuzzed at it and poked at it as it grew. Soon it faded, losing the glow to reveal a red, fleshy lump, and still it grew.

It started taking shape, and move around a little under its own power, and the creature grinned and hummed a melody that shore through the fabric of sanity with a single piercing note. He was happy with himself. The lump growing, floating in the air did not seem to notice.

It settled, eventually, pushing at the membranes confining it with small, chubby hands, and the creature reached up with a pair of hands of his own, momentarily almost human-like, and caught it as it ripped free.

“Hello there, little one,” the creature said.

“Nyah!” said the baby.

The next grin the creature gave once again had a veneer of humanity, if a flimsier one than he had shown the woman at the café.

“You’re going to need someone with more specific human experience than I have, aren’t you?” he asked the baby.

The baby sucked its thumb in reply.

The creature considered this. “Five years, maybe?” he wondered, and then his human shell solidified, and at once he was a child, barely big enough to hold the baby in his arms. Another adjustment and they stood on the floor of a small, empty apartment.

You have a lot of hard work ahead of you.

The child looked down at the baby he held and smiled. “Hard, maybe,” he said, “but I bet it’ll be interesting.”

---

A few years later, a certain woman walked down a block of apartment buildings. This was not the first home she had visited this week, and it would not be the last, but it was important work, so she could deal with being a little tired.

Double-checking the address, she walked up to an apartment on the third floor and knocked on the door.

A boy of about eleven years opened it, and something about him make her pause for a couple seconds before she smiled at him. “Hello,” she said. “Are you Tyrone Evergreen?”

The boy tilted his head, looking up at her, and then smirked. “Yeah. Are you from the school?”

“Ah, yes,” she said, caught off guard. “Well, I don’t actually work for the school, normally, but this is a busy time, so they called me in to help out. Are your parents at home?”

“No,” the boy said, still smirking. Then he opened the door all the way. “You can come in though.”

She thanked him and followed him into the apartment. He led her to a couch and then walked towards where the kitchen had to be.

“You want tea or something?” he said.

Something about the way he moved put her off. Something about his face, or in his voice. She could not quite put her finger on it, but it made it impossible for her to relax into the couch properly.

A quick glance around the apartment revealed a couple of chairs and a table, frames on the wall with the default pictures from the store still in them, and a few scattered items, but it did not really look like the home of a family. It struck her as lacking something, as if it was fake, constructed by someone who almost knew what a house should look like, but who had not lived in one for any large amount of time.

“Hello?” Tyrone said, and she realized she had not answered his question.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Could you repeat that, you think?”

Instead of complying, he studied her for a few seconds. “What are you worrying about?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing,” she said. “I thought maybe you look a little familiar. Have we met before?”

She said it with a joking smile, so when he grinned and said, “Sure,” it took her by surprise. “Six years ago, at a café a few miles south of here. You were excited about legal reforms and I was reading a newspaper.”

A cold chill ran down her spine as she remembered, and it took her half a minute to remember how to breathe. “Oh,” she said, and he grinned.

“So, do you want tea?” he asked.

“I think I might want a drink,” she muttered.

He laughed and walked into the kitchen. “Oh please, I’m eleven. Do you really think I have access to alcohol?” he said as he pulled a bottle of gin out of a cupboard.

A few minutes later, they were situated on opposite sides of the living room table, with her on the couch and him on a cosy chair. She held a glass of gin and he had a cup of tea.

“So,” she said, voice shaking. She coughed a bit and tried again. “So, I assume you know why I’m here?”

“I’m on the lists for the school and they don’t have any records of my parents,” he confirmed, “so they sent someone to have a chat and make sure we know all the important parts.”

She nodded, then she asked, “Can I ask, how did you even get on the list? You’re not… really… a child, right?”

“Right, well, I’m not gonna claim it was easy,” he said, adjusting his position. “Unless anything else is specified, the Hogwarts registry is enchanted to find and record any child with magical ability within a fairly large range. All I had to do was to make myself similar enough to a wizard child for it to notice me, which was tricky, but not impossible.”

“I see,” she said. “You were right, by the way. About the witches.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You found records of it?”

“I’m not gonna claim it was easy,” she said with a small smile. “it was a long time ago, as you said, and while it was buried pretty deep, no one really cared about hiding it anymore. You gave me a date to start looking for, so a bit of digging through the Ministry’s archived gave me enough to confirm it.”

“Colour me impressed,” he said, and took a drink from his cup.

She had a taste of her own glass, because she had a strong feeling she was going to need it, and that she was going to need something stronger once she got home.

Before either of them said anything else, a small shape ran up to Tyrone’s chair. A shape that on closer investigation was actually a small child. The child whispered something to Tyrone, and Tyrone said something back. The woman’s breathing stalled again as she realized what was going on.

“Ah,” she said. “About six years old?”

The child looked at her and grinned, adorably and far more human than his… family member ever had. “Yeah!” he said.

“Alvie?” Tyrone said, ruffling the kid’s hair. “Do you mind leaving us alone to talk for a bit? There’s cookies in the closet if you want.”

“Okay!” the kid said, and then he ran off, beaming.

The woman stared after him. “You really did,” she said.

“I did,” he replied. “He’s on the list too, in case you’re wondering. I didn’t need any tricks to manage that, it just found him in the usual way.”

She looked back at the… child, in the chair, and took a long sip from her glass. “This is why you’re doing this, isn’t it? For the kid?”

“Oh, you are smart,” he said, grinning. “Yes. He’s my son, after all. I owe him that much.”

She almost laughed. “That’s a little disconcerting to hear from an eleven-year-old, you know,” she said.

The man sitting in the chair across from her was at least halfway through his twenties. She was confused for several seconds before she caught on to what had happened, and after that, the knots her brain tied itself into by trying to remember what had just happened were painfully familiar.

She closed her eyes. “Okay just… stop. Please. Stop doing that.”

When she opened her eyes, he was eleven again, looking at her with a smile on his face. “Okay then,” he said. “Why don’t we have the conversation you came here to have in the first place?”

She nodded, and then she paused. “Do you even need it? I mean, you have your-” No, in fact he did not. She reached into her pocket and pulled out his letter, which she should have handed him to begin with, but had gotten distracted from. She gave it to him now, and he immediately opened it and started reading. “Your list of necessary school supplies, additional information and your ticket for the train. I’m supposed to ask if you need monetary help from the school, but…”

“Yeah, money isn’t an issue,” he said without looking up from the letter.

She nodded again. “I think,” she said, “it’s safe to assume you know where to get it, and don’t need school-provided supervision?”

“Reasonably safe, yes.”

She finished her glass of gin and was grateful for the buzz calming her down. She watched him read the letter and she bit her lip in worry.

He looked almost entirely human like this, head bowed so the hair of his bangs covered his eyes. She thought he might be mouthing words as he went. Then he looked up at her.

“Was there anything else?” he asked.

She considered the question before she answered. “I think I found you in the history books,” she said. “I think I might know what you are.”

His eyebrows went up. “Really? Well now I really am impressed,” he said. “My kind rarely bother with humans as it is, and it’s been ages since any of us bothered with wizards specifically.”

“There are always records,” she said. “Notices. Illustrations and mentions. Myths. Very little specific, and nothing that’s known to be fact and not just ramblings of diseased minds, but I’ve found you there.”

“And?” he asked. “What are you planning to do about it?”

She chewed her bottom lip and thought about her wording. “I don’t think I could stop you even if I wanted to, but I just need to make sure, absolutely sure, that it’s safe to let you loose in a school. You understand?”

“Of course,” he said. “I’d expect nothing less.”

“Is it true that you follow agreements religiously?” she asked.

He put out his hand and tilted it back and forth to indicate ‘more or less’. “Eh. I never break a deal if I can help it, but religion doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

“I see.” She thought a bit more, and then said, almost to herself, “A deal. Okay, I can do that. How about this?” She raised her voice again. “For as long as you, or anyone you’re directly connected to, attends the school, you promise not to harm anyone that belongs to or is under the protection of the school, and in return I will promise not to tell anyone about your true nature.”

He looked her in the eyes, unblinking, and finished his tea. “You’re not too bad at wording,” he said, eventually. “Anyone I’m connected to?”

“I won’t insist on that including anyone else than your…” she waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the door Alvie had left through, “creations. And possibly anyone you can expect to follow your orders if you feel like giving them.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Almost literally anyone will follow my orders if I really feel like giving them.”

“You know what I mean,” she said.

“I do, but wording is important.”

She nodded in response. “Subordinates, then. Of any kind.”

“That is fair,” he said. “And by ‘harm’, you mean what exactly?”

“Permanent, long-lasting or otherwise serious damage to mind, soul or body, caused directly or indirectly on purpose.”

“I can tell you’ve been writing laws,” he said, making her smile. “Alright, one last thing. You ‘won’t tell anyone’ means what, exactly?”

“It means I won’t act in any way so that someone other than myself is likely to learn of it. Is that acceptable?”

He leaned his head against the back of the chair, apparently thinking it over before he said, “Yes, I think so. I believe we have a deal.”

He reached his hand out to her over the table.

She hesitated for a moment before she shook it.

“Then, unless there was anything else…?” she fished, leaning forward preparing to get off the couch and really hoping there was not, so that she could leave.

“No, I think that was all,” he said, going back to perusing his letter. “Busy week?”

“Oh, you know,” she said, trying to make small talk as she got up to leave as quickly as politely possible. “Lots of muggle-borns this year. Lots of conversations. They had to call for people like me from outside the school to help, and the workload is still heavy.”

He walked her to the door. “I’m glad it happened, then. It’s been a pleasure to see you again.”

“Likewise,” she replied weakly as she walked out, and if she had drunk a little bit less gin, she never would have said the next line. “I truly hope we never meet again.”

He grinned, and closed the door.

---

Hersheba Hutton-Ollivander had worked at her father-in-law’s wand shop for five years, and officially been his apprentice for three. She fit well into the place, tall and rail-thin as she was, with ghostly pale skin, long black hair that hung in front of her face, not quite hiding her large, too-dark eyes that blinked too little. She finished the look by keeping her nails long, her head bowed slightly, and by wearing a simple, light grey dress. Even people who had known the dusty shop for decades had trouble believing she had not always been lurking in a corner of it.

The shop fit her too. The work delighted her, the precision and, yes, the creativity of it. The way she could spend hours, days in her half-lit workroom, breathing life into something few considered alive. She took to it like fish to water, and these days she could almost always match a wizard to a wand on her own with only a little trouble. This year, her mentor had decided to stay in the upstairs workshop, hidden behind a shelf in the storage, instead of helping her at the desk, even at this time of the year, when the children passed through by the dozen to get their wands.

The flow of customers distracted her from her beloved slow and steady work, but it held its own pleasure. Her fingers tingled with warmth each time she successfully found a wand’s child, and the first time a child was chosen by a wand of her own making, her usually small smile could almost be called a grin.

She had rightful faith in her own abilities.

Yet, when the door opened to reveal a boy walking in the door hand-in-hand with a child of maybe six, she listened to the change in the hum in the air, and immediately called for her mentor to help.

“I hope you don’t mind Alvie tagging along?” the boy said, with a hand on the head of the child, who smiled innocently. “He wanted to come with me.”

“All are welcome here,” Mr Ollivander said.

The boy introduced himself as Tyrone Evergreen, and they began the process of finding a wand that wanted him.

Spruce, phoenix feather, twelve inches, average flexibility. “It has a personality, this one. It needs confidence from its wielder, or it may betray you.”

As the first few wands refused him, Hersheba began to worry, which was unusual. Almost no wizard matched with the first wand they tried.

Laurel, unicorn hair, eleven and a half inches, very flexible. “A powerful, trustworthy wand. Well suited for a wizard with ambition.”

It might have been the hum of the wands in the air. They were agitated, growing more so, slowly but surely, and as they were, so was she.

Chesnut, unicorn hair, thirteen inches, flexible. “This wand will learn to suit its wizard. In the right hands it would be an exceptionally reliable wand.”

The child looked at the growing pile of wands with wonder and curiosity. Evergreen absentmindedly ruffled his hair.

Ebony, dragon heartstring, ten and a half inches, rigid. “Suited for powerful spells. This wand could decide the outcome of many duels, though relying on it above your own skills would be a mistake.”

Evergreen himself did not seem to mind as it dragged on, though it might only feel to her as if it dragged on because of the oppressive air developing. He smiled and patiently tried wand after wand, even as one or two of them unusually began to complain with electric shocks to his handling.

Sycamore, dragon heartstring, fourteen inches, very flexible. “This is an unusually powerful wand, ill-suited to a wizard that is anything less than exceptional. However, you must beware the sycamore. It is always looking for something new, and if you allow it to grow bored, it may combust.”

Mr Ollivander was smiling too, a smile she recognized as one of elation. This challenge excited him, and he walked through the storage shelves as fast as his old legs could carry him, picking out increasingly unusual wands. She thought he was searching for something, triangulating from reactions from the wands that she was yet too inexperienced to sense.

Dogwood, phoenix feather, eleven and a half inches, flexible. “This wand will choose a wizard who is likely innovative and mischievous. This one wants to have fun.”

Then, before Evergreen could even reach out for the next wand, the familiar rush of warmth of a wand choosing its wizard rolled through the room. Mr Ollivander froze, new wand half extended. Hersheba squinted at both of them, confused, and Evergreen started, before he laughed, and looked down.

The child had grabbed the sycamore wand from the pile, and now he grinned up at them, hair standing on end. “Oops?”

“Fascinating.” Mr Ollivander leaned in close to the child and adjusted his glasses. “I have never seen a wand match a wizard under the age of nine. Indeed, I was convinced it was impossible for one so young.”

“Does that mean I can keep it?” the child asked, clutching the oversized wand to his chest and looking up at Evergreen with large eyes.

Evergreen smirked, and answered, “If you don’t break anything before we’re done here, we’ll talk.”

The child beamed at him and nodded, and Evergreen looked back at them, holding his hand out for the next wand to test.

Hawthorn, dragon heartstring, twelve inches, unusually flexible. “A powerful wand with a contradictory nature. You might find this wand to excel or fail at tasks that should be all but identical. This is not a simple wand to use.”

Eventually, after an increasing number of violent rejections, Mr Ollivander picked out yet another wand. This time he hesitated just a little before he handed it over.

Hazel, unicorn hair, eleven and a half inches, rigid. “This is a sensitive wand. It will pick up on your thoughts and emotions more easily than any other, but may react badly to… extremes.”

For the first moment after Evergreen took the wand, nothing happened. Then, with a crack, it shattered, splitting lengthwise into several long splinters and leaving a shallow, bleeding cut across Evergreen’s palm.

Hersheba drew a horrified breath at the sight, but Mr Ollivander’s face gained another level of fervent enthusiasm. Evergreen let the pieces of wood and a single fluttering unicorn hair drop to the floor, looked blankly at his hand with an eyebrow raised and absently raised it to lick the blood off his palm.

“I see,” Mr Ollivander whispered, elated. Then he started down the lines of shelves and called out, “Follow me, if you would please.”

He led them to the back of the room, through a door hidden behind a shelf and down two ladders into the sub-basement. There was a storage room here, where raw materials for wands were kept carefully contained. Further in were other things, tools of the trade that the public had never seen, failed experiments and projects that might be dangerous to use or destroy, and other things, stranger things, gathered through a long life of searching for the most potent magical materials obtainable, things that were stored because there was nothing else that could be done with them.

It was out of this collection of items that Mr Ollivander picked a simple wand box.

“When I was young,” he said, carefully running his hand over the lid of the box. “When I was… much younger than I am now, I travelled many places in search of the best materials for wandmaking.”

Evergreen listened politely, and Hersheba intently. She had heard stories beginning like this before, and she had learned to always listen, for they would not be repeated. The child with a wand a third his height in one hand clutched at his relative with the other, and he listened too.

“I don’t remember where I was, exactly,” he continued, beginning to ease the lid off the box, but making no move yet to show them its contents. “It was a forest, somewhere on the continent. Far away from any people at the time.

The room was deathly silent aside from the dry sound of Mr Ollivander’s fingers brushing over the box. Even the hum from the wands seemed distant here.

His eyes were distant too, watching the box, but, she though, watching it as it had been when he first hid it away.

“At some point,” he said, “I contracted a rather serious fever. I became delirious, convinced I was moments away from finding something for which I had been searching for years. As I was alone on my trip, with no one present to stop me, I walked out into the forest in search of it, though I was too ill to walk straight.”

Finally working the lid off the box, he paused, looking into it with a look on his face she could not decipher. Carefully, he put the lid down without taking his eyes off the contents of the box, and then he lightly ran his fingers over its rim.

“I found something, that day. When I searched again later, I could never locate it, but as I remember very little of the trip itself or what I saw when I arrived, it might be my memory failing me. What I do remember is a tree, vast enough to reach the sky over the canopy, leafless and black as soot, yet as alive as any tree can be.”

He stilled his hand and seemed to return to the present, if only a little bit.

“When I woke, from my fever dreams, some days later, there were branches in my tent unlike any I had ever seen before. After some work, I found it to be the single most difficult kind of wood I have worked with in my life, and that is still true today. It rejected any form of wand-core I tried to give it, and eventually I had to settle for making it without one, hoping the wood’s own magical qualities would be enough. Of the wands I did finish, most did not work right. They did not function as sticks, let alone wands for living creatures to touch, or use. They were cut wrong, or they lay wrong in the world, I could never figure it out. I finished, in the end, one single wand of my fever-wood, but before today I did not believe I would ever meet someone capable of wielding it.”

He showed them the contents of the box then, finally.

In it lay a single wand, black as ebony, but not, carved with shallow, intricate patterns that flowed against the grain and seemed to extend beyond the edges of it, or…

She blinked, several times, to make sure there was nothing wrong with her eyes. She heard the child give a sharp intake of breath, but she did not look.

It was hard to tell how long the wand was, or whether it lay in the middle of the box or not. It was hard to tell whether the patterns covered it completely, and if not, which parts they did cover. It seemed to move around itself without ever moving, like something out of a dream. If this was the wand that lay right in the world, she shuddered to think how thoroughly wrong the others must have been.

Mr Ollivander picked it up, sliding his fingers in from the sides of the box rather than attempting to judge where it was to take it directly. Hersheba flinched as his fingers touched the wood.

He held it out, and Evergreen considered it for a moment. Then he picked it up.

Just like that.

Like it was easy.

And all of a sudden it was. Like it fit into a track, the instant the wand touched Evergreen’s skin, it stopped looking wrong. Suddenly, it was just another wand, long and dark with intricate engravings. It fit in his hand as if it had always belonged there, and he twirled it once, traced a glowing golden line through the air, and smiled.

“It suits you,” said the child.

“Thank you, I think so too,” Evergreen replied.

And that was it.

There was no warm rush of recognition and approval, but there did not have to be. None of them could imagine any better pairing than this boy and this wand.

They went back up to the first floor at a different pace.

The hum of magic in the air, once they walked back around the store’s counter, had calmed down to normal levels, and Hersheba composed herself.

They hesitated just a moment at the counter.

“I didn’t break anything,” the child said.

“That’s true,” Evergreen said. “If you promise to keep that up until you start school, I guess I’ll have to let you keep it.”

The child grinned wide and nodded, and so Evergreen took the sycamore wand and held it out together with his own.

“…Legally, we are not allowed to sell a wand for a child under the age of ten,” Hersheba said, hesitant to deny any wizard a wand that had already chosen them.

“Then of course we will not,” said Mr Ollivander, a smile on his face. Then he fixed Evergreen with a stare. “You came here to buy a single wand for yourself, yes? But I don’t believe your wand was even mine to sell. You can take it, but I will not take payment for it. I will sell you a single wand today, and if you choose to use another, that is not on me.”

The child giggled into his hands. Evergreen grinned gleefully, paid eleven galleons for the sycamore wand, and left the shop

The two people left in the shop silently began to put the discarded wands back into their places. It was simple, methodical, calming work, and it was over far too quickly.

“I think I will retire,” Mr Ollivander said eventually. “I believe you still have work to do.”

She nodded acquiescence and turned towards the front door when he had left to see yet another set of parents with their first-year-age child in tow walk in the door. For once, she thought as she stalked in from among the shelves and startled the family, the chatter of the outside world might even be welcome.

---

Thomas was giddy. More than anything else, he was giddy.

Having received final proof just a few weeks ago that not only did magic exist in the world, he was one of the people who could use it, Diagon Alley was what made it feel real.

All the little things, the ruined books he cried over that were just fine the next day, the school bus that stalled at the stop just long enough for him to catch it, the cockroaches that never touched his stuff even when the house was infested with them, those things he could rationalize. He could imagine he had imagined them, or that there was some rational explanation. Even the frazzled woman calling herself a witch appearing on their doorstep with a letter written on parchment and a long and fascinating explanation was hard to believe. Over the time since then, Thomas had repeatedly asked his parents whether it had actually happened just to make sure it had not been just a very vivid dream.

This though, the undeniable magic of this place made it all settle in his mind. He stared through the windows of a shop selling beetle eyes and pickled slugs, and the lump in his throat informing him that he was just going insane dissolved. Diagon Alley was colourful and gorgeous, and he stared and stared and stared.

Bookstores with titles that seemed too fantastical to be true (he glimpsed one in black leather that said ‘Bones in Potions and Alchemy’, and he knew he would want more money for things in this place than he was likely to ever have,) people selling protective charms on the street, creatures that were definitely not human weaving through the crowd, a woman with a fish on a hat that sang sea shanties. They stopped in front of the most intimidating bank building Thomas had ever seen, though to be fair, he had only ever seen one bank before and was not quite sure what was the norm.

His dad stopped, swallowed deeply, and asked for a minute.

If Thomas was giddy, Theo was anything but. He was a muggle to the core, and while he would support his son in anything, he was still reeling from the first shock of finding a witch at his doorstep. The thought of casually walking into a building that all but threatened to kill thieves at the doors… well, he needed a moment to gather himself.

Thomas was fine with waiting. It gave him more time to watch, though he also wanted to go see what Gringotts was like on the inside. He could just barely see the… goblins, she had said it was that worked there, from where he stood, and he wanted to look closer.

As he was craning his neck to see if he could get a better view, the boy approaching him went unnoticed until there was only a meter left between them.

“Hey, you guys need help?” the boy said, and Thomas damn near jumped out of his skin.

The boy was probably around Thomas’s age, though a little shorter, unremarkable appearance, with brown fluffy hair and a plain white T-shirt that still somehow managed to look more expensive than Thomas’s own. The look in his eyes was intense, his smile was sharp, and the tilt of his head put Thomas in mind of the side alleys he had glimpsed on the way to the bank that were dark as dusk despite the gleaming sun. The boy also stood hand in hand with a young child, who grinned like the sun itself.

“I don’t know,” Thomas said, looking back at where his dad looked decidedly pale. “I think we can manage?”

“Hmm-m,” the boy hummed. “Muggle-born, first day in the magical world?”

Thomas grinned sheepishly and scratched his neck. “Is it that obvious?”

The boy grinned back, sharply and slightly off. “You were staring and your father looks like he’s just been dragged through a spell specifically trying to make him forget its existence. You could’ve just never been in the city before, but this time of year this is a better guess.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Thomas said. “You’re also here for your school stuff, or…”

The boy nodded. “Yeah, just gotta get some more cash first. You’re exchanging yours for a currency that actually works, I figure.”

Thomas nodded slowly and glanced back at his dad again, who seemed to be calming down a little. Part of him wanted to grab his dad’s sleeve and drag him along as fast as possible, and another desperately wanted to know everything about what felt so weird about this boy.

The boy suddenly thrust his hand out. “Right, ‘scuse me, I’m Tyrone Evergreen, and this is Alvie.” He gestured to the kid, who looked like he might have just elbowed him in the side. “Nice to meet you.”

“Thomas,” Thomas answered, and took the hand. “Thomas Strange. Nice to meet you too.”

Tyrone tilted his head to the other side and furrowed his brows, and Thomas sighed internally. He was more than familiar with people teasing him about his name, but Tyrone just said, “Are you sure you’re muggle-born? Because that is a very wizard name.”

“Oh,” Thomas said, and then he remembered to pull his hand back from the handshake, which had honestly gone on for a little too long. “That’s good. I mean, are weird names common here, or…? Er, I mean, no, definitely muggle-born.”

Tyrone laughed. “Oh, you have no idea.” Then he addressed the kid at his side. “What was the name of that woman we met last year, again?”

“Lizabella Scorpelflee,” the kid answered, and giggled. “Her hair was full of bugs too.”

“You see?” Tyrone told Thomas. “You’re basically normal here. Hell, people might assume you’re from some old wizarding family and you’ll end up facing less discrimination than you would otherwise.”

“Who knows,” Theo said, having regained some colour, though his smile was still rather frail. “Maybe we are, and just lost the spark. Would explain a few things.” He briefly ruffled Thomas’s hair.

“You never know,” Tyrone said. “So anyways, you want to go with us to get your stuff sorted out? It’s a busy time of day, and the goblins are always happy to get to do two trips at once, to cut down on time.”

Theo nodded almost a little too quickly and gratefully at the offer.

Thomas wondered for a moment if his dad could even sense the weird, dark feeling he got off Tyrone, or if this was another magic thing, or just something he was imagining, but he found himself grateful too when they finally started moving and the hall beyond the doors of Gringotts came into view.

The hall was huge, ceiling domed far above them. Dozens, maybe a hundred doors along the walls opened and closed regularly to admit people through. Ahead of them, a single long counter ran the length of the room. The marble floor was smooth beneath their feet, and their shoes made clear tapping footsteps against it that Thomas suspected would have echoed against the walls if not for the noise of the crowd.

Beside the room, the crowd was the most interesting thing. Hundreds of people of all kinds of interesting shapes and sizes walked back and forth, lined up by the counter and being lead around by the goblins, and the goblins were something else again. One had bowed them in by the door and Thomas had caught himself too late not to stare. They were all business, working diligently at the counter and regarding their clients with the same cold efficiency they did their piles of actual gold coins and other valuables. Here and there, he glimpsed what looked to be non-goblin employees, but the vast majority of them were goblins.

His dad held his hand in a vice grip, obviously feeling very far out of his depths, but Tyrone walked with a casual confidence that made it easy to follow him.

They walked up to a goblin behind the counter who seemed busy idly reading a document, but was otherwise unoccupied. Tyrone stopped in front of… him? All the goblins appeared male, but they looked strange enough that it was hard to tell. Tyrone stopped in front of the goblin and waited politely

The goblin noticed them after a few moments, and looked up. The moment he saw Tyrone, his eyes widened and he hastily folded up the document and put it down.

“Ah, Master Evergreen, forgive me the distraction,” he said. “We have been expecting you.”

Tyrone grinned. “Ominous as always, Pirkratt. I hope you have; I did give word we were coming, after all.”

The goblin nodded gratefully. “Then tell me, what can we do for you today, sir?”

Thomas glanced around the room curiously. The goblins behind the counter seemed mostly cold and professional, efficiently directing people around, but this one, Pirkratt, was smiling. Admittedly a smile filled with small, sharp teeth, but a smile.

Tyrone was smiling too. His teeth were flat, normal human teeth, and they did not suit him at all. “Oh, nothing big,” he said. “We need to get down to my vault, is all. I was wondering, though. Think you could help these guys exchange their money while you’re at it?”

“Certainly.” Pirkratt threw Thomas and his dad a brief, calculating look. “If it will not trouble you?”

Tyrone casually waved him off. “Nah, we’re not busy. Take your time, don’t worry.”

Pirkratt then turned his attention to Theo, and Thomas felt the grip on his hand jolt in surprise before it loosened, and his dad started nervously discussing their money with the goblin.

Tyrone was talking to his little brother, saying something or other in a low voice with a smirk on his face. The boy laughed in response, and Tyrone ruffled his hair.

Thomas showed his hands in his trouser pockets and looked around at the transactions going on along the counter once more. “They’re very polite to you,” he noted.

“Hm?” Tyrone looked up at him.

“I mean…” Thomas gestured vaguely along the counter. “They seem kind of… They’re a lot more polite to you than they are to everyone else.”

Tyrone shrugged. “I have a few titles.”

For some reason the little boy giggled.

“Really?” Thomas said.

“Yep.” Tyrone nodded, and then he said, “Noble titles are actually pretty common among old wizarding families. They don’t really mean anything, and some of them are dirt poor even with them, but they’re a thing.”

“Cool,” Thomas said. “You’re, er, from an old family, then?”

Tyrone looked him straight in the eyes, and a shiver ran up his spine. They were blue eyes, but a dark, solid colour that did not seem quite natural. “We’ve been around for a while,” Tyrone said.

Thomas broke eye contact first, looking over at his dad, who was just handing a small stack of money over to Pirkratt. He had looked into those eyes for no more than three seconds, yet it felt as if it had been a staring contest. One he had lost.

“Yeah?” Thomas said, still looking away and pulling at the collar of his shirt. It abruptly felt a little too small. “How long?”

“Well…” When he looked back, Tyrone was smiling again, and the worst of the feeling had passed. “Our vault is one of the oldest ones in the bank.”

“You’re serious?” Thomas asked, eyebrows raised in surprise and curiosity despite the cold sweat inexplicably running down his back.

“Completely. We helped build it, though you won’t ever hear any goblins admitting that. Anyways, I think we’re about ready to go.”

Thomas looked to his dad again to see that another goblin had materialized next to them, standing on their side of the counter this time.

“Kark will accompany you down to your respective vaults,” Pirkratt said. “Unless you would prefer separate rides, sir.”

“That is perfectly acceptable. Thank you,” Tyrone said, nodding to the goblin behind the counter.

The new goblin, Kark, bowed and gestured them towards one of the walls full of doors. “If you would follow me, Master Evergreen.”

Tyrone gave a little wave and they walked out the nearest door, and the mood changed abruptly. Where the hall had been bright marble and golden embellishments, they were now in a dim, cold stone passage with a set of rails coming out of a torch-lit tunnel.

With a snap of his fingers, Kark summoned a cart that came hurdling up the rails and screeched to a halt in front of them. Tyrone almost immediately walked up and lifted his little brother into it.

“Come on guys. This’ll be an interesting ride.”

Thomas glanced at his dad, who glanced back. The cart did not in any way look safe, but, well, magic. It probably was.

Once they had all climbed aboard, Kark followed them, carrying what looked like a storm lamp. He left it unlit at the floor of the cart, and then they suddenly shot off at breakneck speed.

Thomas broke out laughing, mostly from terror, as they flew by twists and turns more quickly than he could count them. “Where are we going!?” he shouted over the wind.

“Vault 966!” Tyrone shouted back. He sat casually leaned back against the cart as if it was a lounge chair. “It’s one of the ones they keep the bank’s money in, so you can get your exchange!”

As quickly as the trip had started, it stopped, the cart nearly throwing them all out as it screeched to a stop in front of a pair of imposing doors.

“Please stay here wile I get your money,” Kark said. He nimbly leapt out of the cart and walked over to the doors. He spent a moment doing something they could not see, and then he disappeared through the doors.

Thomas’s dad stumbled out of the cart seconds later, then leaned on it with a shaking arm and tried to catch his breath without losing his lunch. “That,” he said, swallowing. “That was bad.”

“It’s awesome!” the kid exclaimed. “It gets even better deeper down. Sometimes they have loops!”

Theo had no answer for that, and so just stared numbly.

“Why would they want loops?” Thomas asked, slightly dubious.

“Security measure,” Tyrone shrugged. “If people are dizzy and throwing up, they’re not about to steal anything. Don’t worry. They almost never take those routes unless they’re worried you’re a thief, and you don’t look like one.”

“That’s good,” Theo said weakly. “Anything else horrible I need to worry about?”

The kid chewed his lips and looked up, visibly thinking. “Umm, I don’t think so, ‘s long as you don’t fall. They don’t even have dragons in here anymore.”

“Dragons?” Thomas sat up, all nausea forgotten. “Really?”

“Yep,” Tyrone said. “They really did stop using those for guards, though. After someone used one of them to break out during the war. Tore down the whole facade on the building.”

“You’re kidding,” Thomas said, almost laughing from glee.

Tyrone gave a predatory grin. “I’m not. It is technically possible to break into this place, but it’s almost always spectacular when it happens, and it never happens twice the same way. This one’s probably in your history books, so you can check that out when you get them.” He tilted his head a smidge. “I actually think I heard that one of the guys who did it is a substitute teacher at the school sometimes, so you might even get to meet him.”

Thomas could only laugh at that. Either way, this was when Kark came back and handed his dad a bag full of gold, and so easily ended that conversation.

“And now to the Deep Vaults, yes?” Kark said, ominously.

“Yes please,” Tyrone answered. “The Lightedge Vault, deep levels.”

Kark nodded, everyone got back in the cart and they set off again.

The pace seemed slower now, but still too fast to be reasonable under any circumstances. Thomas’s dad was white as a sheet, gripping the sides of the cart until his knuckles whitened. Thomas himself hunkered down and gripped the cart almost as hard, straining to watch the rails ahead of them. The little boy stood on his tiptoes, enthusiastically leaning out over the edge and whooping at every turn, with only Tyrone’s hand firmly hooked into his belt to keep him from falling. Tyrone, like Kark, was entirely unbothered.

The rails had been sloping downwards from the beginning. As they passed through the maze and the turns and intersection became less frequent, the slope increased, until they seemed to be falling as often as they were driving. They passed by vaults with intricate carvings on their doors, over ravines into a void below, and through passageways so narrow the cart threw sparks where it hit the walls (Tyrone casually pulled his brother closer.) Still they plunged deeper.

They passed through a stretch where the stones looked less like walls than they did teeth, reaching for them, and Kark lit the storm lamp. Soon after, there were no more torches to light their way, and they could only see by that one, flickering light.

The trail wound down and down, the forks in the road thinning out and the cart slowing down. Soon they were going slowly enough that talking without shouting would be viable, yet no one said anything.

The caves around them were dark as night, the light from the lamp only occasionally reaching walls and heavy, unused vault doors. The rails levelled out, and they passed through expanses that sounded from the echoes like vast, empty caverns, knife-edged crystals growing from the floor around them. They turned a bend and were suddenly rolling alongside the shoreline of a dark lake.

The cart did not screech to a stop this time. It let its momentum bleed out until it parked neatly just at the end of the rails.

“Whoa,” Thomas breathed.

In front of them, a pair of huge doors looked to be embedded in the rock, more as if they had been halfway excavated out than built into it. There was a symbol carved across the top half of them, one that implied sharp things and water, the chill up your back on dark, lonely nights and the sight of glowing eyes in the forest. It slipped from his mind the second he looked away. The mere presence of those doors in his vicinity made something in him scream ‘danger’. He wanted desperately to see what was on the other side.

Tyrone climbed out of the cart and turned around to stop the kid from doing the same. “No,” he said.

“But Tyrooone,” the kid complained. “I want to come too!”

“You stay out of that vault until I know you won’t touch anything that’ll vaporize you,” Tyrone said. Then he continued when the kid opened his mouth to retort, “And don’t argue with that after what happened at the wand shop.”

The kid closed his mouth with a click of his teeth and sat down, pouting.

Thomas saw a chance and took it before he could think too hard about it. “Um, can I come?”

Tyrone blinked, and looked at him. “What?”

“Can I-” He took a deep breath. Well. He had already said it. “Can I come with? To see the vault? I promise I won’t touch anything.”

Tyrone considered him, expression blank. “Well,” he said, eventually. “If you really won’t touch anything unless you’re absolutely sure it won’t hurt you, and your father says it’s alright, I guess that’s fine.”

Thomas immediately turned to his dad while behind him, the kid complained again. “What? Come on! You trust him more than you trust me?”

His dad looked dubious. Behind him, he heard Tyrone answer. “That’s not it. For one thing, I know for sure you can’t be trusted with this, which makes him more likely to be trustworthy by default. For another, if you’re vaporized, it’s my responsibility and I’ll be really sad, because I love you. If he’s vaporized, it’s his own responsibility and also I won’t care.”

Thomas’s dad looked at him and raised a concerned eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

Thomas glanced back at where Tyrone looked impassively at him, then at the doors that seems to have walked right out of his most implausible fantasies. Then he looked back. “Yes,” he said. “I’m sure. I’ll be careful.”

His dad closed his eyes and sighed. “Alright. Just- Be really careful.”

“Let’s go then,” Tyrone said, and started walking towards the doors again.

Thomas got out of the cart and scrambled after him.

The doors had no visible opening mechanism that Thomas could see, but Tyrone licked his middle finger and traced a circle across the surface, then he laid his hand flat in the middle.

A ripple of something seemed to spread out across the doors, something in the black surface inverting itself and then turning back. The next thing Thomas thought was that he could not understand how he had not seen the plain, normal-sized door embedded in the larger doors before. Tyrone turned the handle and they entered.

Somehow, the collection of bones longer than Thomas was tall standing just beside the door was entirely unsurprising. Tyrone walked purposefully deeper into the vault, and Thomas lingered by the door, looking at everything, but careful not to touch anything.

There were tables stacked high with items of various kinds, bookshelves with books and scrolls with titles he mostly could not read, one giant, empty cage standing on the floor. It looked like something had tried to scratch its way out of it, and almost succeeded. There were weapons hanging on the walls, from intricately carved spears to a collection of machine guns that looked like they had last been used in world war one.

He leaned closer to a table to see a miniature pyramid, apparently lined with gold and built out of teeny tiny pieces of rock. A simple picture frame showed a man standing on the edge of a cliff in a sunset, and only the faint movement of his hair in the wind showed that it was indeed a magical picture. A cup filled with pens, each topped by an ornate animal head in what looked like bronze. Among them were several whose needle-sharp teeth had dark stains.

What finally caught his attention was something that looked like a snow globe. It was a smooth glass ball on a stand, within which something was floating; a spherical, dark, gently wobbling something, flecked with pinpricks of light so small he was not entirely sure they were real.

“What’s this?” he asked.

Tyrone came back into view, tucking a small moneybag into his pocket. “That?” he asked. “That’s a universe. A small one. It’s probably safe to touch, though if you break it, our own universe might just fall apart.”

Thomas’s fingers were halfway to the glass when he yanked them back. “Oh,” he said.

Tyrone smiled at him. It looked sharper than it should be. “It’s very unlikely, of course. The casing isn’t easily breakable, and even without that it’ll probably just dissolve away, but still. Should we go?”

Thomas just nodded.

The trip back to ground level passed quickly and haphazardly. The goblins bowed at them as they went, and then Tyrone bid them farewell, the kid waving at them before they were both gone in the crowd.

Thomas and his dad stood at the bottom steps of the bank for a few minutes, not saying much at all. Then Theo cleared his throat and unfolded their shopping list.

“So,” he said. “Should we just start at the top?”

Thomas nodded mutely and followed him down the street as he looked around, looking for the signs of the stores they had been recommended.

In the privacy of his own mind, Thomas thought that he would at least try not to have too much to do with the Evergreens if he could help it. He also had a feeling that it was a battle he had already lost.

---

Tyrone Evergreen had a train compartment to himself. He did not mind it much. In fact, he hardly noticed it. People walking through the train looking for empty seats glanced into his compartment, got a funny feeling they should be somewhere else, and left.

If he had remembered that this behaviour was unusual, he might have tried to fix it, but for now, he figured he would make enough friends once he got to the school, so he kicked back and covered the empty seats in candy wrappers.

At times, he talked to himself, unless he was talking to something else, invisible to human eyes. At times, he leant back, unfocused, as if he was somewhere else entirely. Not that being two places at once was difficult for him, but it could be distracting at times. The landscape passed by his window and the sky slowly turned black.

He shared a boat across the lake with a girl named Elizabeth, who did not say a word to him and kept throwing him suspicious glances. He might have purposefully unnerved her with a smile or two, but certain temptations are irresistible.

Then came the hall. And the Sorting.

Elizabeth was sorted Slytherin, and she looked at him as if he was the venomous snake from her seat at their table once he walked up to the stool with the hat on it.

“Oh,” said the voice in his ear. “This is new.”

‘Problems?’ he thought at it.

“I’ll say,” said the hat. “I will sort any student that puts me on during the Sorting Ceremony, no matter who or what they are, but I do need something to work from. It seems I cannot see any of your memories.”

‘Yes, that would be problematic, wouldn’t it?’ he thought at it. ‘Hmm. Okay, I think I know what the problem is. Give me a second.’

Quietly and as quickly as he could, he collected a random selection of his own memories and organized them neatly before he converted them into a form that was a little closer to human.

‘Is that better?’

“Oh yes,” the hat said. “This should be more than enough. Now, let us see… You are presumably brave enough for Gryffindor, though I must question what bravery means when you have nothing to fear. Loyal, certainly, to those you choose, but I believe a Hufflepuff needs a certain amount of… cordiality. Still, someone like you could blossom in Hufflepuff.”

The hat chewed on its thoughts for a while.

“No, maybe not. You are cunning enough for Slytherin, but you have neither the personal ambition nor the willingness to use people. Ah, well. I suppose, in the end, you did come here to learn, more than anything else. In this case, it must be RAVENCLAW!”

Tyrone stood up and removed the hat from his head, let the chosen memories sink back to their proper places. He walked down to the table that had just broken out in applause, looked around at the countless number of students and thought, Yeah, this could be good.

#transcendence au #My writing #TAUwarts #victoryyyy!#whoop whoop

39 notes · View notes

mabel-but-slytherin · 7 years

Text

Connection (6 part 1/?)

I’m late. Super late. So late most of you probably don’t know/remember this fic exists. I’m super sorry and I’ll leave it at that for here because tumblr format sucks for ANs. The total chapter clocked in at well over 10k words so I cut it in half and part two will be posted next week. It’s done and edited and I’m sicced for it just didn’t want to overwhelm people and then potentially disappear again.

Tagging the people I know were super active in following this fic here (if you want to be added to future chapters let me know!): @scrollingdown @sapphireswimming @spookytiffany @seulgi008 (your url’s changed I believe multiple times since the last update and that makes me feel even guiltier)

Enjoy! On ffn and ao3.

Danny packed up his ghost gear in less than a minute.

Soon three claws cut into the air, cutting a green tear between this realm and the next, and then criss-crossed over itself to create a shortcut that the psychic could fit through. Danny sent a grateful smile and a short thanks in Esperanto to Wulf as he passed towards it, gesturing for the ghost (who happened to be named Nathaniel, not nearly as ironic as Nick would've been but close enough that Danny had to stifle giggles) to go first.

After all, Nathaniel already looked like he was starting to fade away without his haunt.

Bobby was waiting on the edge of and into the rift itself, his grizzled face somehow not looking nearly as uncomfortable or out of place as it should leaning on such an unnatural tear between two worlds like it was any old truck or other mortal form of transportation. He reached out a semi-tangible hand and rested it on the teen's shoulder.

"Don't let those idjits get in any more trouble than they need to." Danny gulped and nodded as he understood the weight the statement carried as both an apology and permission rolled into one.

"I won't. And I trust you to be there to pull me out if I do?" Danny pulled his own statement into a question with a taunting smirk, knowing full well the hunter would see its full reciprocation. Apology and forgiveness, for both this and the Leviathan incident, with maybe a hint of permission should the need arise again.

And the grizzled dead face showed it, crinkling with a passion that made Danny oddly think of a grandfather figure he'd never really had. "Bah!" Bobby laughed, "I'm more worried about you getting yourself killed than them. This isn't their first rodeo, kid."

"And you're acting like it's mine? You know I've been dealing with this stuff for a while before meeting you Bobby. Besides, I've hung around enough with death to know a thing or two about surviving it." The teen's laugh stretched to hide a grimace of fear as he focused ahead, leaving Bobby muttering under his breath with concern about N-whatever-that-ghost-who-chased-the-kid-down-here's-name-is as Danny ventured through to the other side.

The kid's heroism, duty, and innocence was almost enough to make Bobby regret that the Winchesters' plan to keep Danny away from this hunt worked out this way instead. Danny deserved to be protected, even if he and his boys did it for entirely different intentions. After all, none of the three young men he looked after now would likely approve of his end goals, even the ghost whisperer who had put the most pieces together.

But that wouldn't stop him. Nothing would. That's why they call it an obsession.

The house Danny stepped out of Wulf's portal into was cold and it was dull.

It wasn't cold as in haunted house cold, or dull as in normal house dull, but it had a drop in temperature compared to the world before passing within its walls and a stark stillness as if some curator had decided that the Victorian home needed to be perfectly preserved. Contrasting that was an atmosphere that suggested that someone had poured a lot of energy into livening the place up, not seeming to realize that the house itself had decreed that nothing lively or even alive should grace the place again.

Apparently it also housed a resident intent on upholding that.

Nearly-Headless-and-everything-else-less-because-he-was-currently-missing Nathaniel was nowhere to be seen, and Danny couldn't help but worry as he turned around to look for his guide. On one hand, the ghost clearly would need to recuperate after two days without the spectral energy of his haunt, and it was all too likely the man was checking in on the family he chased after Danny to protect. But the psychic couldn't help but worry that something happened to the ghost he would need to consult about whatever intrusion made this haunting turn violent, and he couldn't crush the guilt that in the small time he spent talking to Bobby the invader or the Winchesters could've gotten him.

The repeating pound of footsteps creaking on old wood coming from what sounded like just outside the house echoed that thought, and the obvious humanity of the sound informing Danny that the Winchesters indeed must already be here.

Danny thought about how terrible his luck was, but quickly realized it would be a miraculous stroke given his luck to expect anything better.

Then the teen realized he was standing in the middle of the kitchen, looking out towards the direction the footsteps were coming from, and he quickly bolted to hug the wall before retreating in the opposite direction.

Luckily years of companionship with the dead, as well as a lifetime of trying to sneak past unwanted confrontations with bullies or his parents, gave Danny the advantage of stealth in this mission.

Danny found himself passing into the dining room, and sticking his head around the corner he could see that he was across a main hallway from the living room, with the kitchen covering the room between his end of the hallway and the front door where the Winchesters could be heard picking at the lock. Right by the entrance was a stairway to the second floor, which given the decent size of the downstairs entertaining areas would probably contain a handful of bedrooms and maybe an office, but not much else. If there was indeed a family of ghosts living here, the haunt most likely is centered upstairs.

Closing his eyes and breathing deeply in his core to better sense the energy of the house, Danny confirmed that whatever background energy was coming from the spirits, it permeated the entire building, but the vast majority was on the upper floor.

The continuing wiggling of the front lock and the direct line of sight from the front door to the stairwell made it obvious to Danny he couldn't risk dashing upstairs without being spotted. The Winchesters weren't idiots or amateurs at lock-picking and would likely finish any second. Also Danny noted with a slight frown that he hadn't thought to change out of his favorite outfit of t-shirt and jeans. On one hand at least he wasn't barging in to conflict negotiation in his pajamas, but on the other hand he'd stick out like a sore thumb against the Victorian décor if he tried to hide in the corner of Sam or Dean's eye.

Hearing the sound of rattling increase drastically as the men (Danny could easily envision it as Dean picking the lock while Sam held the duffle bags) moved on from twisting the lock to tugging at the rusted hinges, Danny dashed his way into a dark corner of the linen closet off the dining room, keeping the door open and hoping he wasn't spotted. He'd wait until he could make a clean sneak towards the stairs.

He didn't think the Winchesters would appreciate the mysterious kid they locked in a hotel room two days ago beating them to an undisclosed location that must be at least hundreds of miles away.

"Finally! With a door like that this place must've been condemned for over a century!" Dean's relieved voice carried a booming echo compared to the dead silence of the house only moments before.

The silence carried even the sound of Sam lifting the gun bags off the doorstep as he followed his brother in. "I told you before Dean, town records show this house has had consistent residents up until a couple years ago."

"-when all the families moving in reported this place going from uptown to Halloween town, I got it." Dean finished, looking around the main hallway and the footsteps turning towards the living room.

Danny let out a sigh: all that he needed now was for Sam to follow his brother and Danny would be free to hug the walls of the kitchen across the hall until he could make a break for the stairs.

"Hey, Sammy. You notice something weird here?" He heard Dean call out, followed by a buzz and whine Danny quickly placed as the homemade EMF/Walkman he had seen Dean fiddle with in the motel room before.

It sounded different from the clearly non-responsive it was the night Danny first saw it (which had seemed to almost disappoint Dean, who was clearly trying and failing to subtly wave it around Danny), and this time the teen feared they might take that to go straight upstairs and block him from meeting up with Nathaniel before the Winchesters might get to the ghosts.

Sam must've had similar thoughts regarding the EMF as Danny could practically hear the raised eyebrow. "You mean besides the spectral energy readings coming from almost everywhere?"

"I'm not talking about what spooky stuff we're getting, Sammy, I'm talking about what spooky stuff we're missing." Dean paused, and there was clearly the gap where Sam must've sent him some look or a shrug. "If this place is haunted enough to get condemned and has been sitting here empty for over two years, then why isn't there a buildup of dust?"

Sam's steps had a hint of uncertainty as he followed his brother into the living room. Danny took it as his cue to slip out of the linen closet and back up against the wall between the dining room and kitchen. "Someone's been cleaning."

"Something's been cleaning. We both know that door hasn't been opened in at least a year and there's no back door in the floor plans." Dean cut in. "And I don't know about you, but I don't think we've ever seen a ghost that keeps house before."

"Are you starting to think that this might be a 'maybe Danny has a point' kind of thing?" The phrase made Danny's entire posture go rigid. There was a clear dash of skepticism in Sam's tone when he said it, but the teen could hear that it was a word for word quote that had somehow entered the Winchesters' terminology. What did it mean if Sam and Dean clearly still believed he was wrong about ghosts being peaceful, but were willing enough to debate the idea that they had clearly discussed it out of his earshot, and would look and consider potential evidence in his favor?

"I'm starting to think that someone still died here and this Casper's gonna keep on killing people who live here unless we stop it. If anything, weird ghostly habits are a sign that the kind of ghost Danny's convinced are safe might be plotting to kill people, or worse: using him to do it."

Sam's voice went soft at the anger in Dean's, and Danny found himself so enraptured in his eavesdropping that the ghosts upstairs were all but forgotten. "You're worried about Bobby."

"Of course I'm worried about Bobby."

The emphasis that it was their mentor they cared about rather than him only made the pit of ice growing in Danny's chest go deeper as Dean continued.

"You know he was never exactly stable since he… since he died, but that thing he did to the Leviathan with Danny- to Danny, that was something else."

"You think it was Bobby who did that." Sam's sentence hung somewhere in the middle ground between a statement and a question, between doubt and incredulity. On one hand, the younger brother thought that Dean was wrong. On the other hand, he had no clue what to think.

Danny shook at how strangely perceptive his ability to read people, especially these two, had gotten. He tried to laugh it off as either a lifetime with Jazz or a weird tick from his powers, but neither felt right.

"I think Bobby shouldn't have been able to do that," Dean started slowly. "And I also think Bobby shouldn't have been able to come back again, even if only the kid can see him. But most of all, I think the kid couldn't have possibly done that on his own. You were driving when he woke up in the Impala afterwards, Sammy. You heard me need to tell him what happened. He… there was nothing there at all Sam, and then he started looking so scared. The kid had no clue."

Danny felt shame itch on the back of his neck as he recalled that at least half of that fear was of Dean, but the hunter didn't seem to know that.

Just as the moment of calm settled between the siblings a loud crash came from the upper floor.

"We can have another chick flick moment later," Dean said with a scoff. "Let's take care of fugly first."

Less than a second later he and Sam were bounding up the staircase after the noise, with the few heavy poundings betraying that the giants were taking the old wood stairs several steps at a time.

Danny looked up at the ceiling above him as he quietly paced his way through the kitchen. Regardless of the number of ghosts here, or how happy they were to have Nathaniel home, there wasn't any reason for something that could turn insubstantial to make a sound like that. Which meant that whatever malicious ghost had taken up resident decided to try to scare the humans who had been obviously settling in for a long chat downstairs out of the house.

But then Nathaniel's words came back to Danny and he remembered that the ghosts were all fully aware that the next visitors to their haunt would be hunters, even if they weren't familiar with the Winchesters themselves. For a ghost to be so illogical to make it obvious they were haunting the place in front of hunters who wouldn't be scared that easily, but at it same time it also wasn't so out of touch to immediately Rage as soon as trespassers entered the property. Danny couldn't think of a reasonable explanation based on his experiences, and that in itself was disturbing.

Danny had the sudden feeling that this might not be as simple as just talking down a ghost stubborn enough to ignore his hauntmates warnings for years.

Most worrying, either the intruding ghost was variable enough to need minutes to flicker into reality when disturbed but simultaneously carry substantial tangibility in the real world, or it wanted to lure Sam and Dean upstairs.

Danny waited until the footsteps were at least a room away on the upper floor before he turned the final corner from the kitchen into the main hallway and saw the stairs were clear. He was just about to start making a silent way up and testing how much weight he could balance on the first step without creaking when a blurry figure floated out of one of the rooms upstairs and made its way down towards him.

"Ah, young Daniel! I'm glad to see you're still here to help us out!" Danny urgently raised his finger to his lips to shush the ghost as it spoke in a conversational tone, desperately gesturing towards the upstairs where the Winchesters were clearly still investigating supernatural activity.

"Yes, sorry." Nathaniel stayed parked in the air above the teen and Danny internally sighed at how clueless the dead man was if he thought they could stay and have a chat in the open. Realizing going upstairs would be fruitless now that he found his guide, the psychic turned back towards the kitchen, before having a second thought and realizing the colonial family who clearly still acted as if they lived here in whatever age they were alive in would fuss less if they 'entertained a guest' in the living room.

Just as he was about to turn another figure materialized a foot in front of him. The slight tingle of energy and years of practice pretending to be normal quashed the instinct to jump, and the female ghost looked at him curiously.

"You were right, Nathaniel, he does appear to have instincts beyond merely the Sight." The spirit, clearly Nathaniel's wife and believing Danny had sensed her arrival to this plane, seemed pleased at the assessment and followed daintily behind. Danny bit in the instinctual response to point out that his 'sensing' her was entirely a coincidence.

The teen also noted her feet soundlessly touched the floor with each step she took, which only made it clearer that whatever was upstairs was an anomaly in the household.

"I apologize for the mess everything is right now, I've been worried sick the whole time dear Nathaniel's been away and haven't had the chance to clean. And I hope you don't mind the children," two small, translucent faces watched from the corner of the living room as they entered. "Normally I would have them play upstairs when we have guests over, but I fear leaving them alone in the company of either unwanted danger invading our house.

"Tea?" The ghost mother vanished and reappeared back by the living room entrance, and Danny could hear the rattling of porcelain in the kitchen as Nathaniel floated to get it. "Also, don't mind my husband, he normally can vanish as well but he's been feeling ill ever since he returned. I've never seen it before…"

"-It's ghost sickness." Danny cut in, glad that there was at least something he could say that may hopefully get the conversation serious and on track. He didn't want to be rude but it really wasn't the time for tea. "It's from not being in his haunt-" Danny realized tact might work better, "-the house for so long. Some time here and he'll recover.

"And really I'm good on the tea right now." Danny threw in as an afterthought, seeing the question build on her face. The rattling stopped and Nathaniel floated in.

"Oh, no trouble then. Thank you for the reassurance, Mr… now what is your last name Mr. Daniel?"

Danny flinched a bit at the name again and thought of how to avoid giving out his last name. It was a habit to avoid being identified as a Fenton, and if word about him was already spreading through Ghost Zone gossip here he didn't want to make it worse. "My first name's fine, and please call me Danny." He added with a grimace. Hearing someone, especially so formal, call him by his full name still sent tingles down his spine. Seeing her prim face frown made him scratch the back of his neck, only making the frown deeper.

Danny had never been grateful before for the sound of a destructive ghost attack upstairs. "And I really think I should be getting on to whatever trouble your new neighbor has been making upstairs. Your husband says he's been a problem ever since he moved in?"

"Yes!" The mother cried, and Danny couldn't help but notice the ghost children were shivering a bit in the corner. "He has no manners, or sociability, and is a makes a complete mess every time he-!"

Nathaniel put his intangible hand on his wife's shoulder to cut off her exasperated rant. "Darling, that isn't exactly what young Danny has come here to hear. Now that I can hold a conversation without fading out again I can finally tell you what I should have before you came. It started only a few weeks after tragedy struck the family that was living here, and all of us could feel the energy manifesting from the Ghost Zone the entire time in-between. You see, we had always been companionable but separate from the humans that lived in our house, until…"

Sam could hear the whine of the EMF meter growing louder with each step as he followed Dean upstairs. His brother pivoted at each door at the start of the hallway and heard its beeps grow stronger as he turned to the right, then the lights go straight off the charts as he turned to the left. With only a quick glance into the empty child's bedroom Dean first looked into, Sam followed his brother into the guest bedroom on the other side of the hall.

The room somehow seemed even darker and drearier than the rest of the house, with now noticeable amounts of dust caking the minimal furniture and floor minus an empty space by the window. While the rest of the house had a feeling that could possibly pass as a museum or place the Winchesters might break in to stay the night, this room screamed the haunted house the hunters were used to.

Dean slowly stepped forward towards the empty patch by the window, and stopped a few feet away to look outside. Sam followed dutifully behind to see the clear view of the front yard and the Impala parked thirty feet in the distance.

"So… master of the house decided to creepily watch into the distance as we pulled in. Don't you love it when the fuglies decide to play up the traditional monster movie roles?"

Sam smirked. "You miss that Dracula hunt, don't you?"

Dean turned his head and Sam saw in his eyes the joy that made hunting with his brother worth it. "You know I miss any hunt where we get to save the day and get the girl. Not only was she hot, she was a bartender! The chicks on this job suck."

"Still upset about the waitress?" The dinner they stopped for dinner had a wait staff well over seventy.

"All I'm saying is that there was a Hooters right next door!"

There was another crash a few feet away, but no visible signs of anything on the ghosts' part. Looking around the empty room, most possessions still in boxes, Sam couldn't find anything that stood out as being particularly tied to the haunt besides this empty patch of dust.

"So what do you think?" He turned to ask his older brother. "An entire family died here in the early 1800s, nothing for almost two centuries and then there was a suicide here about three years ago. The first family's burial records were lost in a town fire in 1937 and the most recent death had the body cremated. No remaining body parts, research didn't point out any possible mementos and I haven't seen anything while looking around that might be it. Should we start digging through the boxes here?"

Dean continued to circle the room, the EMF meter staying at a constant full blast but no other sign of the ghost permeating the air. The older Winchester looked over the piles of boxes and wiped the dust off the side of one. A shipping label was scotch taped to the side, any sign of the address smeared by a rough scribble of Sharpie marker.

Examining two other boxes revealed the same, the black lines on each more frantic than before. Scuffing the dust off the floor revealed that one stroke went so wild it stained the hardwood.

Dean stood and turned to his brother. "Nah, somehow I don't think we'll find it in here."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "This is clearly the center of the haunt. Come on, there might be a hair or a fingernail or something in this mess."

Dean shook his head. "Even if that's the case, doubt we'd find it before the spook gets angry again. Besides, you said suicide. Didn't want to be in this world when he died, doubt something that small would hold him on."

Dean sent him a cocky smirk, and Sam felt his face narrow. He hated when Dean did that during a serious situation. "Besides, let's get to the bottom of this. Why'd he suddenly off himself with his whole life packed up? It's a few years ago, bad economy, clearly living in parents' house." Dean gestured around to the room. "Wanted to get out and suddenly couldn't. Offing himself stops a ghost from coming back, but anger like that can lead to something else."

Sam's eyes widened as it came to him. Neither brother liked thinking about the last similar case they took. "You think we're dealing with a-"

Dean nodded. "Let's get started on the blessing bags, Don't really feel like sticking around here longer than we have to."

Hearing Nathaniel speak of the ghost he was dealing with didn't inspire confidence in Danny. The fact that they knew its background helped, but the sad angry boy who lived in this house for his whole life, not even something its original residents could claim, probably wouldn't take kindly to a stranger trying to evict him.

Danny reached into his backpack and pulled out the thermos and Fenton Peeler to have on him. Even though he hated walking into what could be a peaceful confrontation armed, it would be helpful to have defenses at the ready and neither device looked outright like a weapon.

Looking up at the confused faces of the ghosts sitting around the living room, Danny tried to muster what he hoped would be a confident smile.

"I think it's best if you wait downstairs or vanish for now. Nathaniel still needs to recover and there are hunters in the house."

"You're so young." The woman pointed out with a frown. "Will you be alright?"

Nathaniel moved his hand from his wife's shoulder to comfort her back through the chair. "You've seen his abilities, dear. He's the best chance we've got."

"Thanks." Danny fought the urge to rub his neck and felt even more uncomfortable. "And you know, I've gotta say I'm surprised you're all using acronyms and stuff. Thought you'd be more stuffy."

The ghost let back his head and laughed. "Just because we're dead doesn't mean we're frozen in time! We pick up all that newfangled slang the humans who live here use." Another bout of creaky footsteps started upstairs, making Danny realize the Winchesters had paused for a while.

The ghost noticed as well, and sent Danny a final nod. "Just don't forget what those hunters never seem to realize. Even though he no longer acts it, the young man up there was once human too."

Flashes of the times the Winchesters sobered after hunts suddenly flashed through Danny's mind. Sam's face after chasing stragglers from a pack of werewolves and the desperation in Dean's voice when he shifted between anger, confusion, and hope in describing Bobby's possession.

"Somehow," Danny found himself saying, "I think that deep down they know."

In just the twenty seconds it took for Danny to figure out the right pressure to put on the stairs to silently climb them the upstairs went from dead quiet to a battleground. He could hear shotgun shells being unloaded in the room on the left (hollow, with the multiple beats of impact betraying that it was rock salt rather than iron or silver) yet the teen also noted that the brothers must've split up and taken both sides of the upper floor when he heard a crash down the hall to the left and a grunt from the right.

Why the Winchesters couldn't be smart or make this easy, Danny sighed, before freezing as he realized one ghost shouldn't be able to put up a fight on two fronts.

Danny didn't want to go either way and risk meeting a Winchester, but standing like an idiot in the center and by the only exit clearly wouldn't work, so he needed to pick a side fast. More scuffling to the right and a haunting silence to the left made up his mind and Danny quickly darted into a dusty bedroom.

Wow, it was sad when it was just as much the unnaturalness stillness of the quiet that drew Danny as the potential lack of a murderous hunter.

The teen looked about the floor and squinted down at the clearly stolen motel towel laid out in the center of the room with a smattering of herbs, dusts, and other small objects. Investigating closer, Danny almost reached out until he noticed red flower petals and crossroad dirt and froze out of habit. He tilted his head before turning it quickly at the feeling of something materializing behind him.

"Why would those idjits be making hex bags now of all times?" Bobby Singer fiddled with his trucker hat as his eyes skillfully scanned over the ingredients laid out before them, clearly picking out more than Danny could.

"Bobby, what are you doing here?" More sounds of a fight beyond drew both of their attention, and Danny had to reach out to snag the ghosts' wrist before he could be drawn towards the Winchesters. "And I'd rather you not blow my cover after being the one to bust me over here."

Luckily the comment didn't make Bobby angry as he turned back. "I'm keeping an eye on you. There really isn't that much better to do in the afterlife you idjit, and if you haven't noticed at least one of us has gotta stick around to get your butt out of here when you're done." A second later and Wulf was standing on Danny's other side.

The psychic felt himself raising an eyebrow. "And you couldn't have just stayed visible or at least in my sight this whole time… why?"

"Figured you'd focus better having this be a solo thing. That and your friend's not really the most comforting figure to approach the ghost wife and kids, or whatever nonviolent approach you wanted to take."

Wulf was still hunched over in his old torn prison uniform and sniffing the spectral energy in the room.

"Point taken."

Watching the Esperanto speaking ghost veer around the hex bag workshop reminded Danny of what prompted his allies to materialize anyway. "So what exactly are they doing with all this?"

Bobby stared at it for a second before going still mid-float and letting out a curse. "Put those toys back in your bag and get the hell back out of here. Those boys clearly didn't do their homework and are just now figuring this out." He took off his cap to let his fingers trail through thinning hair. "Idjits."

Danny crossed his arms. "Isn't that exactly when I'm supposed to be helping them out?"

Bobby turned around and glared at him. "Yeah, when you're dealing with a ghost ya moron! Go in there trying to talk it down and you'll just get yourself killed!"

"Bobby, I'm not stupid. There's spectral energy all over here, Nathaniel said he felt the Zone manifesting in this room for weeks and I'm pretty sure I can tell when I'm standing less than twenty feet from a Raging ghost even with all of you here!"

"And there's more out there than just your typical ghost, boy! You're not just gonna run in there and try to suck up a pissed-off poltergeist!" Bobby's urgency travelled like a wave of energy that pushed against Danny's sixth sense, and the teen forced himself to breath and calm down before the danger pushed Bobby too far again. Another raging ghost in a nearby vicinity wasn't going to help, and Wulf growling dangerously at the unintelligible to him threat near his human friend reminded Danny that a fight between friends here and now wouldn't end well for anyone.

Luckily Danny didn't even need to talk Bobby down. Unluckily the distraction came in the form of a particularly loud crash from across the hall as the ghost- no, poltergeist - appeared to have grown even stronger with the extra malevolence.

Bounded footsteps creaked down the stairs less than a second after and Danny startled at the thought of the Winchesters separating again now of all times.

"Those hex bags that they've made should be able to banish any hold of ectoplasmic energy over the house," Bobby provided. "But in order for them to work they have to place four of them in the wall on each extreme of the house in the cardinal directions on each floor. Until that the poltergeist's just gonna keep getting angrier."

"What can we do?" Danny's posture set in a determined stance he subconsciously took whenever he felt heroic. The thought of him independently facing down the world and the Winchesters on his own reminded Bobby of that first night they met in the graveyard following the kid's grief.

Somehow he found himself stuck guiding teens who were all too good at acting the soldier.

"Checking on whichever idjit's getting himself tossed around up here's probably best. The poltergeist wouldn't be guarding this territory if the hex bag was placed and knowing Sam and Dean either of them'd be too focused on the poltergeist to see you if you're quiet."

Danny nodded quickly and darted into the shadows of the hallway before poking his head around the corner and carrying on. Somehow the human kid managed to make less noise than the ghosts as they faded out of the visible plane and followed behind him.

#connection verse #superphantom #supernatural #danny phantom #danny fenton #sam winchester #dean winchester #bobby singer #wulf #hope it was worth the weight #nice to finally get to update this fic #and use my fic tag again #akg fic

9 notes · View notes

runhappydad-blog · 6 years

Text

This post is the whole reason I have decided to write blog in the first place, I really wish I had started this when I first began to use exercise, particularly running, as a way of battling the depression I had been suffering from for over 10 years. This could either be a really long blog or I will maybe split it up, I haven’t decided yet. Either way, make a brew, get comfortable and have a read.

Depression.

So when did it start? I have always been a worrier. stressing about money, the children, my job, anything I could worry about, I did worry about to the point where I would struggle to sleep or just be miserable and tired throughout the day. I will admit that I probably wasn’t the most fun person to live with. At the time, I was living with my wife, my five year old daughter and 3 year old son in a lovely house we owned. We were just your average family. We had two cars, I worked hard while my wife was a stay at home mother looking after the children, bills were paid, cupboards full of food. Everyone seemed happy… ‘Seemed happy’ being the appropriate words.

I can’t remember the exact date but I went home from work one day to be greeted by an empty house. My wife was gone and so were the kids. All of their clothes, children’s toys and all of their other belongings had been taken. My wife’s car was no longer in the driveway and there was no explanation as to where my family had gone. This is the exact day that my world started to crash down. I didn’t have a clue where they had gone and my wife was not answering her phone. It took me nearly two weeks to find out where they had gone, but the important thing is that they were definitely gone for good. That was the end of the marriage and the breakdown of the family.

Happier times with the kids in Conwy

I was devastated. I was spending my days sitting in an empty house chain-smoking up to forty cigarettes a day in my living room and avoiding everyone including my close friends and family. As time passed I slipped further and further into the hole I was digging for myself. Bills weren’t getting paid, red letters were coming through the door demanding money on a daily basis, bailiffs were coming round to the house to take things but I just did not care, I had given up. Eventually my lovely family home was repossessed along with my car and I went to live with my brother who was kind enough to take me in even though I had neglected my family.

Jumping forward a few years, I was still living with my brother but I had nothing. It was a constant battle to see my children as my wife was trying her best to remove me from their lives and I still didn’t even know why or what I had done to cause this. Moving back to the family home with my parents was the only option I had so that I could try to get back on my feet. They gave me a roof over my head, food, and even a car but the damage had been done and I was now a broken man.

In 2014 I filed for bankruptcy as I just could not see any other way out. I knew that for the next six years I would be financially blacklisted but it put an end to the constant letters, bailiffs and mounting debt. So I was now divorced, bankrupt, I wasn’t looking after my body and once again I just did not care. I did not see a way that things would get better. I was merely existing but not actually living my life which wasn’t good for me but most importantly it wasn’t good for my children as they knew that daddy was not happy.

I spent the next few years just ‘plodding on’ with life. I wasn’t doing anything to help myself, most of my friends were mutual friends with both my ex-wife and I but now I had none so I just lived each miserable day as it came. Yes, I had the odd few good times where I would pick myself up and join a gym and say to myself that I am sick of this and need to sort things out but as soon as I was feeling better it really didn’t take much to knock me back down. It was a genuine roller-coaster fuelled by anti-depressants, but it had to end soon. Where was this ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ for me?

Although I was unhappy, I still had the kids there for me. Their little smiles cheering my up and giving me something to look forward to. So when I found out that my ex wife was moving away to the other side of the country, six hours drive away, this destroyed me, it was the last straw and… I broke. After two months off sick from work, spending literally every day and night just in my bedroom playing on my Xbox in the dark, not eating, no exercise whatsoever and struggling to sleep I really did have one of those ‘enough is enough’ moments. Yes, this has to end but I am the only one who can make it end and I need to create my own light at the end of the tunnel! I had started a course of Sertraline and counselling but it wasn’t enough.

During one of my counselling sessions I was advised to make a list of all the things I wanted to do, never thought I would be able to do but things that I could control and at least attempt. So I started my 2018 bucket list

Run my first 5k timed 5k

Run my first timed 10k

Lose weight and get down to 12 stone

Climb Snowdon, Ben Nevis and Scafel Pike

Go solo camping

Take the children on holiday

Take myself on a holiday without the children

That was my bucket list. I have always enjoyed exercise in the past but was always told that I would never be able to run because of the hip replacement. I had tried a couple of times to start running but my bouts of depression always stopped me. Not this time, I was going to do it, I was going to prove to myself that I could complete a 10k race. So I signed up to the 10k race as part of the English Half Marathon weekend in Warrington. It was nine months away so plenty of time to get prepared! I really was going to do it!

So in January 2018, I laced up my old New Balance running trainers, braved the horrendous wind and rain and ran… for approximately one kilometre. Not the best but it was a start. A few months earlier I would have given up but not this time! I refused to give up. Over the next couple of months I went out three times a week and ran the same route. Mt favourite music in my ears helping push me further and further each time. I was doing it! On March 10th 2018 I ran my first ever 5k without stopping! It was slow, it wasn’t pretty but it was 5k non-stop! I still remember feeling over the moon! I had done something I was told by doctors I would never be able to do! Which is why it was even more of a shock only a few weeks later. On March 27th I ran my first ever 10k without stopping! I was amazed at what I had achieved, if I could run 10k with hard work and dedication then why was I waiting until September to complete my first ever 10k race? The excitement and sense of achievement took hold of me. I went home and signed up to the Runthrough Tatton Park 10k race on May 5th 2018.

I am not going to pretend this was easy or that some days I didn’t feel like just giving up and calling it a day because I did. Sometimes it took every ounce of my determination to put my trainers on and brave the rain, wind and then snow and ice. I knew that once I had finished my run I would feel better.

By this time, I was already an avid user of the social media sites Twitter and Instagram, tweeting and posting under the username ‘Runhappydad’ and spending a large portion of my day talking about anything and everything running related with like minded people. After a short while I found an amazing and inspirational group of people who I chatted to regularly, they seemed to show a genuine interest in my tweets and I was definitely interested in their tweets. The motivated me more than anything could ever have done. These amazing people are Will, Kerry, Stu and Sam and I owe so much to them for their kindness, their knowledge and the way they started to gently push me into signing up for more races. By the end of April, I think I had signed up to about five 10k races.

But the one thing I will always be thankful to them for, is the fact that they knew I could do more than a 10k race by September. I still wasn’t sure but everything they said made sense and so my bucket list changed from completing my first 10k race by September 2018 to signing up to my first English Half Marathon on September 16th 2018. Yes, a half marathon… 13.1 miles of running through Warrington. I still joke now about being ‘forced’ to sign up to it but they really did have faith that I could do it. We became good friends, talking daily and they even told me that they were also going to be taking part in my first ever 10k race at Tatton Park! This made my day! Not only was I going to take part in a race I was also going to meet these people who I felt I already knew. Excitement and nerves rushed through me. Meeting new people was not something I had ever relished.

So, now that I had lots of races to train hard for, mentally I was in a great place, I could see that running was doing more for me than any medicine ever could, what else could I do? I could try to give something back to the community that had helped me so much during the difficult times. I decided to use these races as a way of raising money for the amazing mental health charity, MIND. I set up a Just Giving page, contacted MIND, posted about my challenge on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram and watched as the donations started pouring in. People who I had never met, but had followed my story on Twitter were donating their hard earned money to help me raise money for charity! It was an amazing feeling. Now there was just the small matter of completing the seven 10k races, The RUNR Miles for MIND 50 Miles in May challenge and the big one, the English Half Marathon! But I never once doubted myself.

I don’t want to go into the details of each race with this post as each race I completed meant a lot to me, so they deserve their own post. I hope that you have somewhat enjoyed reading this one as much as I have enjoyed getting everything out of my head. My aim of this post was to show people that yes, things can be bad, times can be downright awful, but there is only one person who can make things change. It is great to get help from family, friends and loved ones, but until you are ready to accept their help and work hard on your own happiness then you could end up stuck in this vicious circle of depression, feeling okay, depression, feeling okay, and so on.

Seek help, talk to someone, even if it is a complete stranger on a social media platform like Twitter, learn from others because there really is a light at the end of the tunnel if you are willing to work hard and make things happen. No one is responsible for your happiness and you are not responsible for anyone else happiness. It really is okay to be a little bit selfish sometimes and do the things that make you happy. If you are struggling to find someone to talk to then give me a shout, you can email me through this and I will always listen and chat to you. You really do not need to go through everything alone.

If there’s one last bit of advice I could give you, from my own experiences, it would be get some running shoes and get out there in the fresh air and give running a go. Join your local Park Run or local running club, meet new people, it will not be easy but the best things never are.

Not an easy one to write tonight but it felt great again to get it all out. Hope it helps just one person. Happier post next time, promise! This post is the whole reason I have decided to write blog in the first place, I really wish I had started this when I first began to use exercise, particularly running, as a way of battling the depression I had been suffering from for over 10 years.

0 notes

neilmillerne · 6 years

Text

How Jaime used 20 second of courage to lose 135 pounds.

Meet Jaime.

Apologies in advance if her story makes you cry.

But don’t worry, it’s not the ugly crying from watching Inside Out or Toy Story 3. The inspiring kind of crying that makes you go “there’s hope for humanity yet!”

I met Jaime in person at one of our big events we’ve done in the past, Camp Nerd Fitness, and I remember two things specifically: she was very nice, and very shy 🙂

Little did I know that event would be the “radioactive spider” that bit Jaime and gave her permission to transform herself into a real life superhero.

I’m proud to say that Jaime is a member of our Nerd Fitness Academy (on sale 50% this week only here), but I guarantee this story is full of information you can start to implement TODAY.

HOW JAIME LOST 135 POUNDS AND CHANGED HER LIFE

STEVE: Jaime! Holy crap you have changed since we met in 2016! We’ll get to all the good stuff shortly, but I want to start by painting the picture of who you were before. Tell me your origin story!

JAIME: I have struggled with my weight my entire life.

I was an overweight kid, enough so I went with my mom to Weight Watchers when I was 10.

If I wasn’t trying to lose weight then I was gaining weight: I’d lose 50 – 80 lbs and then gain it all back.

My highest recorded weight was 330lbs.

I was pre-diabetic, on medication for high blood pressure, had pain in my hips, back and knees and was generally miserably unhappy.

STEVE: Thanks for sharing that with us: it’s amazing how childhood experiences can impact our lives for decades after. For you, it sounded like 3+ decades of struggle – what was a typical day like for you before you changed?

JAIME: I would hit snooze about a million times before getting up at 4:15am so that I could catch the bus into the city.

Usually my only exercise would be walking to and from the train station. I would visit the cafe across the street from my office and get a pretty large breakfast.

At work, anytime I would get up from my desk I would have pain in my hips. If I took the stairs to deliver anything to a coworker my knees would protest.

I was also living off Diet Mountain Dew.

For lunch I would go out to Moe’s Southwest Grill at least three days a week: a burrito bowl with extra meat and a bag of tortilla chips.

I would also snack at work, because they were everywhere: candy, chips or granola bars.

When I got home, I would eat dinner and then just sit on the sofa, playing on my iPad, or scrolling Facebook over and over. Then I’d sneak off to my room with some candy or ice cream.

I’d stay up way too late and then do the same thing the next day.

STEVE: We’re creatures of habit, and it sounds like you managed to find yourself stuck in an unhealthy, but comfortable rut. So what changed?

JAIME: I actually found Nerd Fitness back in 2012; I would read the emails, and I think I tried doing Paleo a few times, and it just didn’t stick for me.

(Steve’s note: it doesn’t stick for most people! Here’s why…)

I remember giving the free workouts a try but honestly at my size (330 lbs), just the warm-up was a workout. I’d be so sore that I would end up skipping the next workout and then give up.

I was still collecting underpants: gathering more and more information without taking action yet.

I eventually joined the NF Academy in January 2014, but didn’t do much with it for close to two years.

But I kept reading. And waiting.

And then I saw the announcement for Camp Nerd Fitness, an in-person long-weekend event taking place just up the road from where I lived! I wanted to go so badly but consistently talked myself out of it. I thought I was probably too big to go, and definitely not fit enough.

So I skipped the first two years, and finally, when it came to the 3rd Camp NF in 2016, I used 20 seconds of courage and signed up.

I knew that motivation was going to be high when I got back from Camp so I went and signed up for a gym membership, trainer and everything.

STEVE: So what happened at Camp NF, and what happened after?

JAIME: I really loved Camp NF.

I consider it the beginning of my transformation.

I spent the majority of my time in the mindset classes, which I knew I needed help with before I could fix my body. I tried yoga and BJJ, but was so sore and tired that I was passed out in my bunk before anyone else.

After returning from Camp, I set out to implement as many of the lessons I had learned.

To start, I got more involved in the private Academy Facebook group and the Camp Nerd Fitness group. I even started checking off some quests in the Academy!

As for my nutrition, I began by trying to eat the same healthy foods I enjoyed eating at camp: veggies, meat, fruit, and healthy carbs. I wasn’t tracking or logging anything to start, because I knew that would overwhelm me.

Next, I addressed my breakfast: I used to go to a little cafe across the street from my office and get breakfast, so I started swapping my old breakfast (eggs, bacon, a big pile of potatoes and a biscuit) for a lower calorie Veggie omelette. I eventually quit going all together and started packing my own breakfast and lunch and healthy snacks!

After I conquered and solidified those changes, I started logging my food so that I had a better grasp on how many calories I was consuming every day. I had logged in the past and always had success with it, and this time, it actually stuck.

As far as training after Camp, I used the Camp motivation to start working with a coach, twice a week. I ran into some issues when pushing myself TOO hard with weight training, so we backed things way off and switched to more of a bodyweight training approach. After that, I incorporated about 30 minutes of cardio on my off days.

STEVE: You told us about what life used to be like…What’s a typical day like for you NOW?

JAIME: I now get up at 3:30am without snoozing (thanks sunrise alarm clock!). I also make my bed to give me some momentum.

I’m at the gym by 4:30AM, which is great because there’s nobody there.

I then head to bus stop and head into work. I bring my breakfast, lunch, and snacks with me so I’m not tempted to buy unhealthy foods.

I’ll try to take a short walk during lunch, weather permitting.

After work, I don’t spend nearly as much time sitting on the couch. I make sure to repack my gym bag for the next day, which takes all of 5 minutes.

Before bed I’ll review how my day went, look at my schedule for the next day, and decide how I want to spend the little bits of free time: it’s usually either reading or studying.

For the most part I am happier. I feel more confident in certain situations. I’m off blood pressure meds, and I’m no longer prediabetic. No more pain in my hips when I get up from my desk…unless I killed my legs at the gym!

STEVE: I love this: building systems, packing your bag the day before, reviewing your day and planning the next one. This is a leveled-up life for sure!

I know you’ve been a moderately active member of our private online communities – it’s how I found out about your success! What do the NF Academy and Camp NF communities mean to you?

JAIME: I think the communities are worth the price of admission on their own, even if you don’t follow the workouts or fully utilize all the Academy has to offer.

They are some of the best places on Facebook.

I’m mostly a lurker, but I’ve always considered both groups a safe place to go for advice and support.

There’s also a “100+ lbs to lose” Academy subgroup which has become very active recently – I’m trying to keep the positive momentum with a July challenge.

STEVE: Thank you for stepping up and leading that charge, Jaime. It’s really great to see and we are lucky to have you in the Rebellion!

Okay, so it’s Outsiders Month here at Nerd Fitness – what sort of things are you doing now that you never would have done in the past?

JAIME: In February 2017, I signed up for a Spartan Race in DC on September 9th with a bunch of other NF Rebels I had met at Camp and in the Academy (including NF’s lead trainer, Jim Bathurst).

I made the mistake of signing up first and watching YouTube videos after – I was scared but I’m so glad I signed up.

To prepare for that race, I also signed up for the Triple Peach, which is the Peachtree Road race (10K), PNC 10 Miler, and The Thanksgiving Day Half Marathon:

I was able to do each of those races and by the time the Spartan rolled around I was down 120lbs. The Spartan Race was so much fun!!! I was crazy nervous but once I got myself over that first wall, it was on! I did so many things that I never thought I would be able to do.

As far as other activities I’m now able to do…

I can hang from my arms, no pull-ups yet but I’m working on it. I went rafting in a two man kayak, I tried indoor rock climbing, and I was able to easily fit in all the rides at The Wizarding World of Harry Potter…so magical 🙂

STEVE You’ve changed dramatically. I also know this is a lifelong journey, and old mindsets are really tough to overcome. What do you still struggle with?

JAIME: I struggle with letting myself be “done” with losing weight. The excess skin left over from being heavy for so long distorts how I see myself sometimes. It makes me feel “fat” and that voice in my head tells me that maybe I should lose a little more.

I know this is just my mind playing tricks, so I don’t listen to it.

Thanks to the Nerd Fitness article on meditation, I’ve been working on meditation and my mindset since December 2016. Thanks Headspace! The biggest difference is that I feel that much of the internal struggle I used to have with myself over food is gone.

I used to get to a point in every previous weight loss attempt where I just couldn’t fight with myself anymore and that is when the backsliding would start. Now, if a craving pops up it isn’t something that I feel I have to immediately act on, I have some space to make a decision.

The unexpected struggle: who am I as this new, fit, healthy person? I’m 40 and at a healthy weight for the first time in my life. The world treats me differently and I’m trying to learn how to be. I find that I’m still trying to act invisible, head down, no eye contact.

There is also a good bit of fear of gaining it all back. I did start Therapy in February and I do feel more comfortable in my new skin. There is less fear because I know I have the tools I need.

STEVE: Jaime, that’s incredible. Mental health is so important and I know this is a huge step for you, I’m really glad you’re taking the time to work on yourself that way too. So this is amazing.

So inquiring rebels want to know: what’s next for you?

JAIME: I recently got certified as a personal trainer! I haven’t done anything with it yet, but I just feel like I know enough to be dangerous. I just want to keep moving forward and get stronger.

I’m also getting more serious about my powerlifting. I had been squatting for a while but was getting more nervous the more weight I put on my back. I wanted to be sure my form was on point and I hadn’t really had any decent instruction on deadlifts, so I starting training with a powerlifting coach.

I’m about 9 months into it and I really enjoy it. So far my biggest moment was deadlifting 135lbs, which was my total weight loss. I didn’t realize how heavy that was until I was holding it in my hands.

I’m thinking about maybe trying out a powerlifting meet. I haven’t even said it out loud yet….

STEVE: Jaime, I have no doubt that some day in the future I’ll be seeing you share a photo from you at your first powerlifting meet, and maybe even one day hear that you’re training clients yourself!

I’m so proud of you, and I was giddy to be able to share this story with our community. Thank you!

Why Jaime Was Successful: The 5 Keys to Her Changes

I love Jaime’s story so much.

Here is a woman who has been struggling with her weight since she was a little kid, including trips to Weight Watchers with her mom at 10!

3 decades later, after gaining and losing the same 50-80 pounds over, and over, and over…something was different. Jaime is now a COMPLETELY different person, and I couldn’t be happier to have her be such a powerful and supportive member of our community.

I want to draw attention to 6 things specifically that I think are the reasons why this attempt to transform succeeded where every previous attempt had failed:

#1 JAIME KEPT TAKING BABY STEPS

As I heard more of Jaime’s story, I noticed pattern that became more and more prevalent.

She keeps taking very small steps in the right direction.

And it might have been weeks, months, or years between steps…but they are all steps, nonetheless.

She also used 20 Seconds of Courage (a rallying cry for us Rebels) at key moments when she was afraid to try something.

Jaime started reading Nerd Fitness in 2012. She then continued to read the articles but struggled to take action for two years. That’s okay!

She joined the NF Academy in 2014. She started reading the content, she joined the community, and still didn’t go all in for another two years. That’s okay!

In 2016, she decided to attend Camp Nerd Fitness, where she took more baby steps, working on her mindset and trying a few activities that didn’t scare her.

After Camp NF, she took another baby step: making slightly healthier food choices without thinking about anything else.

When it came to her breakfast, she made baby steps there too: from unhealthy paid breakfast, to slightly healthier option, and then she started bringing her own food.

After she built that momentum, she started logging her food and educating herself further.

She slowly leveled up her workouts, and signed up for increasingly challenging races that allowed her to build confidence:

Signing up for a race can be TERRIFYING.

Going to camp as a stranger? TERRIFYING.

Going to your first BJJ class? TERRIFYING.

So in each instance, Jaime mustered up just 20 seconds of courage to sign up for something before she could talk herself out of it!

I have no doubt that within the next few years, I’ll be hearing from Jaime about her coaching clients and how much fun she had at her first powerlifting meet – all because she keeps taking baby steps towards her new goals!

#2: JAIME USED MOTIVATION TO BUILD MOMENTUM

Most people watch an inspiring video, attend a conference, read a book, or listen to a podcast and get all excited about changing their lives, saying “Things are going to be different now!”

So they start exercising, or running every day, or working on a project that’s important to them. And this sticks for a few weeks until life gets busy, and they realize that they have slipped back into old habits and are back at square one.

I call this “The Afterglow”: an increased period of motivation after a life-event where somebody is inspired to change. This afterglow eventually burns out as life returns to normal.

Jaime instead focused on “The Everglow:” she put her efforts into making her changes PERMANENT. By using this period of increased motivation to build systems and habits, she made sure that her progress and momentum became routine.

In other words, the fire that burned after camp is still burning today.

Boom! Everglow!

As we know here at Nerd Fitness, motivation is fickle and abandons us when we need it most.

So Jaime built systems and discipline and didn’t rely on motivation:

She joined a gym and paid for training sessions up front. She knew she’d be more inclined to go if she didn’t want to waste money.

She picked a gym right next to the bus she takes to work every day.

She packs her gym bag every night before bed so she doesn’t have to think about it the next morning.

She pre-plans her work clothes for the week and pre-makes her food so there’s no decision to be made at 3:30AM when she wakes up!

She signed up and planned for races far in the future so she’d actually go.

By using this period of increased motivation to put safeguards, systems, and processes into her life, Jaime minimized the hurdles between her and continuing to build momentum through action.

She removed friction that allowed her to build momentum.

Additionally, she ADDED friction between her and the things she wanted to avoid: she started bringing her food from home so she wouldn’t be tempted to eat unhealthy food.

https://ift.tt/2L4s0SU

#How Jaime used 20 second of courage to lose 135 pounds.

0 notes

johnclapperne · 6 years